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ALL FOR ANDOVER 

The School Life of Steve Fisher and 

his Friends 



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He heard a tremendous roar of sound.— Page 239, 





ALL FOR ANDOVER 

The School Life of Steve Fisher 
and his Friends 


By 

CLAUDE M, FUESS 

n 

ILLUSTRATED BY 

JOHN GOSS 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 

















Copyright, 1925, 
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 


All Rights Reserved 


All for Andover 


Printed in U. S. A. 


1Florwoo& ipreee 

Norwood, Mass. 

APR -a *25 


©CIA,1523047 
■' ■■: ^ / 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

The School - 

• 

- 

- 

PAGE 

9 

IL 

Getting Acquainted 

- 

- 

- 

30 

III. 

The Great Game - 

- 

- 

- 

54 

ly. 

School Mysteries - 

- 

- 

- 

84 

y. 

The Wiles of Women 

- 

- 

- 

104 

yi. 

Deep in Winter - 

- 

- 

- 

127 

yii. 

Spring Term - 


- 

- 

156 

yiii. 

The Second Year - 

- 

- 

- 

187 

IX. 

School Diversions 

- 

- 

- 

218 

X. 

In the Seats of the 

Mighty 

- 

243 

XI. 

Meeting Kesponsibility 

- 

- 

284 

XII. 

Closing the Year - 


- 

- 

308 

XIII. 

Commencement Week 




342 


4 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


He heard a tremendous roar of sound 

(Page 237) - - - Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

The New Main Building at Andover - - 14 

Never has there been such a game for thrills - 74 

Joe caught Nancy’s cold eye fastened on his - 148 

The Memorial Tower - - - - - 186 

“ Why don’t you brace up and be a man ? ” - 254 

The Stately Elm Arch - ^ - 306 

A Commencement Day Procession coming 

down the Elm Arch - - - 356 


7 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


I 

THE SCHOOL 

“ Hi, Buck, how’s the boy? ” 

“ What, you back again, Alec? I thought you’d 
gone on to Princeton.” 

Well, if there isn’t old Jess! ” 

“ Coming out for the team this fall, Eddie? ” 
On the platform of the Andover station late 
one September afternoon a crowd of fifty or more 
young men who had just stepped from the Boston 
train were being welcomed by their friends. It 
was a busy scene. Old boys were slapping each 
other on the back, shouting out favorite nick¬ 
names, and getting acquainted again after the 
thirteen weeks of summer vacation. Trunks were 
being hauled about and mercilessly slammed 
down; while here and there taxi-drivers and bag¬ 
gage men were trying to pick up a little trade. 

Nearly everybody was talking at once. There 

9 


10 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

were, however, a few strange youngsters who stood 
gazing rather helplessly about them, uncertain 
just what to do next, but trying their best to look 
unconcerned. Against a pillar near the green 
post-office mail-box one such recruit leaned for a 
moment, watching the proceedings and deciding 
what his first move should be. 

In physical appearance he had little at a casual 
glance which seemed distinctive. Of medium 
height, he was stocky in build and had wide shoul¬ 
ders that marked him as a dangerous customer in 
a quarrel. His square jaw indicated obstinacy, 
but his clear blue eyes and pleasant expression 
certainly showed a saving sense of humor. Under 
his cap could be seen traces of auburn hair. With¬ 
out being especially good-looking, he seemed an 
attractive type of normally robust boy, with a 
healthy tan indicating that his summer had been 
spent in the open. His clothes were obviously 
ready-made, and there was in his manner a kind 
of diffidence, as if he were not quite sure how to 
conduct himself in civilized society. He stared 
about him much as the raw D’Artagnan must 
have done in Paris, when he came for the first 
time upon the splendor of the King^s Musketeers; 
and, like the hero of Dumas’s romance, he had his 


THE SCHOOL 11 

own ambitions, which are in good time to be dis¬ 
closed. 

His name was Stephen Harrison Fisher, and he 
had travelled all the distance from a little town 
in northern Montana. He was the only child of 
a country clergyman, whose salary was not large 
and whose missionary spirit had kept him poor. 
The boy could hardly remember his mother, who 
had died, worn out by pioneer hardships, when 
he was barely eight years old. He and his father 
had ever since been close comrades in a little cot¬ 
tage on the outskirts of the village. This was all 
the home Steve had ever known, and he had never 
left it until he had set out for the East, four days 
before, to enter his father’s old school. That fa¬ 
ther’s name was down in the Andover records as 
Fisher, ’83, and he had been one of the most fa¬ 
mous athletes of his generation. 

From the time when he was old enough to 
listen and understand, the boy had been told 
about Andover, for his father, although he had 
not returned there for years, had nevertheless kept 
in touch with it and its progress. Before he had 
reached the sixth grade in grammar school, Steve 
could have told you something of the Andover 
traditions, of its athletic achievements, and of its 


12 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


famous alumni like Quincy, Morse, and Holmes. 
When he was old enough to try its entrance ex¬ 
aminations, he had absorbed an amazing amount 
of its history, from the date of its foundation dur¬ 
ing the Revolutionary War. He was well aware, 
for instance, that our national hymn, America, 
had been written on Andover Hill, that Harriet 
Beecher Stowe and Elizabeth Stuart Phelps had 
lived and published books there, and that it had 
long been a center of learning. He had dreamed 
for months about going there—and now here he 
was at last, actually in the Andover station, in the 
midst of Andover boys,—and, strange to say, his 
chief emotion was one of loneliness. 

Can you tell me where Bishop Hall is? 
Steve turned his head and saw a rather thin, wiry, 
sharp-eyed youngster, with quick gestures and an 
inquisitive air, who was looking inquiringly at 
him. The boy was probably not much over four¬ 
teen, but his horn spectacles gave him an owl-like 
appearance, and he had a precocious expression, 
as if he were older than his years. 

Yes, I think I can find it,^^ replied Steve, and 
I’m going there myself right away. Come along 
up the hill, and I’ll try to lead you to it.” And 
taking up his heavy suit-case as if its weight were 



THE SCHOOL 


13 


not at all burdensome, he walked off. The smaller 
boy had evidently sent his baggage ahead, for he 
carried no bundles, but strode along beside Steve, 
adjusting his short, choppy steps to his com¬ 
panion's longer strides. 

This your first year? " inquired Steve. 

Yes, I'm just entering." 

“ My name's Fisher. What's yours? " 

“ Ted Sherman," was the answer. “ That is, 
my full name is Theodore Roosevelt Sherman. 
You see I was born when Roosevelt was Presi¬ 
dent, and my dad, who used to hunt with him, 
named me after him. My home's in Omaha." 

“ Are you rooming in Bishop Hall? " 

“Yes, I think that my room is going to be 
Number 18." 

“ That's queer. I've got Number 20. It must 
be right across the corridor. What class are you 
in, Ted?" 

“ Oh, I suppose it'll be the Lower Middle. I 
took some ^ exams' last spring, and I don't be¬ 
lieve I'll make any higher grade." 

“ I'm in just the same boat. We're going to 
get acquainted, all right." 

By this time the two, walking rapidly, had 
reached the top of the hill, where the great school. 


14 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


with its many brick buildings, lay before them. 
There was the broad central campus, already 
marked out in white lines for football gridirons, 
flanked by two ancient-looking dormitories. 
Steve, who had been made familiar with his sur¬ 
roundings through maps and photographs shown 
him by his father, left the Main Street, guiding 
his companion along Chapel Avenue to the Inn, 
and then through the glorious Elm Arch, that 
lofty cathedral aisle which has been traversed by 
so many generations of Andover boys. 

“ Look! ” cried Steve excitedly. You can see 
the new Main Building with the tall pillars off 
there to the left. That ugly mottled thing is 
Brechin Hall, where the school offices are. And 
there ahead is the Memorial Tower/^ 

When they reached the Tower, they both in¬ 
stinctively paused to get their bearings and to 
read the names, carved in stone, of those ninety 
Andoverians who had given their lives in the 
World War. They were now in the very center 
of school life, and they could see dozens of stu¬ 
dents rushing about, evidently engaged in mat¬ 
ters of pressing interest. As they stood there con¬ 
templating the scene, the chimes above them rang 
out. 













THE SCHOOL 15 

“ Six o’clock already! ” said Steve. We’d bet¬ 
ter hurry along or we won’t get any dinner.” 

Fortunately Bishop Hall, their destination, was 
only just across the street, and they soon found 
themselves at the doors of their respective rooms. 
A pleasant-faced young man with a black mous¬ 
tache, seeing them standing in the corridor, came 
up and said, Hello, boys, looking for anything 
or anybody? ” 

“ No, sir,” answered Steve. ‘‘ We’re just trying 
to get acquainted with our future home.” 

“ Are you going to live here? ” asked the man, 
smiling. 

Yes, we’re on the second floor,” answered 
Steve, who seemed to be the spokesman. I’m 
Steve Fisher, and this is Ted Sherman with me.” 

I’m what they call here your ^ house-prof,’ ” 
explained the stranger, and I’m supposed to see 
to it that you behave yourselves. My name is 
Irwin. You’ll get acquainted with me before very 
long.” 

Perhaps you can tell us where we can get 
some dinner? ” spoke up Ted, who was hungry 
from his long ride. 

Of course. Why don’t you go right over to 
the Beanery,—that’s what the boys call the Din- 


16 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

ing Hall,—and hand your names in. They’ll fix 
you up there all right, and you’ll see dozens of 
new men like yourselves, all wondering what to 
do next. It’s right over there, just beyond the 
Tower and the Gymnasium. You can almost 
smell the food from here.” 

The boys needed no further advice on this sub¬ 
ject. It took them only a moment to cover the 
ground between Bishop and the rather plain red¬ 
brick colonial structure, built—although few of 
the students probably knew it—by a world-re¬ 
nowned architect, the famous Bulfinch, who drew 
the plans for the Boston State House. Within 
its walls there seemed now to be nothing but 
noise,—the rushing about of waiters, the clash of 
heavy china, the muttering of many voices, which 
made a roar like that of a surging sea. When 
they got inside, the cry rose, ^^Yea, Preps!” 
They were pushed and jostled over to a table in a 
corner where four other terrified lads were nerv¬ 
ously wielding knife and fork, and sat down, re¬ 
lieved to have escaped a direct assault. In a min¬ 
ute or two a boy of their own age, garbed in a 
white coat, appeared and said, Well, preps, what 
do you want to eat? ” He seemed so belligerent 
and so obviously in a hurry that even the cool- 


THE SCHOOL 


17 


headed Ted could do little piore than gasp, 
Dunno.” The waiter, who was evidently well 
used to such indecision, darted away, and in an 
incredibly short time reappeared with two dishes 
of soup, two plates of baked beans, bread, milk, 
butter, and two huge dishes of ice-cream, all of 
which he deposited on the table in front of them 
without a word. They were both too hungry, as 
well as too discreet, to protest, and Steve began 
with the dessert, following with the soup, and 
closing with the beans and the milk. Everybody 
else seemed quite too busy to pay any attention 
to them. In fact each boy was engaged in push¬ 
ing his food down his throat in the briefest pos¬ 
sible time, without any nonsense, such as conver¬ 
sation or other diversion. 

Having speedily concluded the double cere¬ 
monies of mastication and swallowing, Steve and 

« 

Ted imitated the others by rushing to the revolv¬ 
ing door, from which they were presently hurled 
out on the terrace. Here at last they had an op¬ 
portunity to breathe freely. As they strolled 
slowly towards Bishop Hall, they could notice, 
now that they had leisure to inspect it, that it 
was a three-storied brick structure, with its walls 
covered with a mass of ivy. Beside and behind it 


18 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


were more dormitories of the same general de¬ 
sign, and others loomed up at unexpected angles 
as they turned around to look back of them across 
the street. I never dreamed this place was as 
big as it is,’^ commented Ted. We’ll get com¬ 
pletely lost here if we don’t watch out.” And 
Steve for the moment was inclined to agree with 
him. 

Both boys were eager to unpack their trunks 
and get settled; so they found their rooms, which 
were located side by side on the second floor cor¬ 
ridor, and began to arrange their things. Ted 
was in Steve’s study, resting for a moment and 
marvelling at the colors of the sunset, when the 
door was suddenly thrown wide open and a little 
boy, with red cheeks and a round cherubic counte¬ 
nance, shouted, Look who’s here! ” adding in a 
second, Come out of there, you fresh preps! ” 
The intruder, who could not have been more than 
fourteen, had an assurance remarkable for one of 
his years. He was clearly trying to assume a 
dignity and roughness entirely foreign to his per¬ 
sonality. Steve unconsciously smiled; whereupon 
the child squeaked in a shrill tone, “ Wipe off that 
grin, prep,” and, going back to the entrance, cried, 

Hi, fellows, here’s a fresh one! ” 


THE SCHOOL 


19 


In a second as it seemed the room was packed 
with boys of all sizes, three or four with large 
^‘A’s” on their sweaters, all assembled to enjoy 
the fun. The cherub, who, by a kind of universal 
ironic agreement, was tolerated as a ringleader, 
issued his orders: “ Now, preps, get up and turn 
your coats inside out.^’ Steve looked for a mo¬ 
ment as if he was prepared to resist, but Ted, who 
had sensed the situation perfectly, said to him in 
a low voice, Do just what he wants.^’ Then Ted, 
who had a whimsical note in his character, got on 
his knees before the youthful bully and whined. 

Please, mister, don’t strike me. I’ll be good.” 
The crowd burst into a roar of approval at his 
assumed terror, and a big six-footer encouraged 
the cherub by saying, Kill the fresh prep. 
Buddy.” Encouraged by this voice. Buddy boldly 
stepped forward with his commands, “ Now, 
preps, march off in lock-step. Lively now.” And 
so Steve and Ted, chuckling inwardly at the ad¬ 
venture, obeyed instructions, and Ted, with his 
hands on Steve’s shoulders, followed him into the 
hall and down-stairs, where they came across 
other new students lined up for hazing. 

The ordeal was not at all serious, and was prob¬ 
ably as much fun for the tortured as for the in- 


20 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

quisitors. Buddy, as the diminutive leader was 
called, had evidently been unofficially made mas¬ 
ter of ceremonies. Barking out directions in a 
high-pitched voice, he marched the newcomers 
round and round the circle in front of the dormi¬ 
tory; while his victims, in pretended agony, ut¬ 
tered loud wails of pain. Four times Steve was 
commanded to deliver a speech, only to be de¬ 
risively howled down by his auditors. Ted pa¬ 
tiently crowed like a duck,” scrambled like 
an egg,” and went through the traditional stunts 
so dear to the schoolboy’s heart. Both were en¬ 
joying the riot immensely. Then unexpectedly a 
bell began to ring out from somewhere in the 
half-darkness. The group began slowly to dis¬ 
perse, until soon only a handful were left. The 
bell was now swinging more rapidly, as if by way 
of warning. Better beat it, prep, or you’ll get 
marked out,” said an older boy to Steve, who, 
seeing that the hazing was over, ran inside, just 
as the bell had stopped its quick strokes and had 
begun striking the hour. It was the eight o’clock 
signal, marking like a curfew the time when every 
student had to be in his dormitory or receive a 
cut.” Steve and Ted were to hear that bell for 
many months to come, until it became a familiar 


THE SCHOOL 


21 


pleasant sound in their lives; but on this night it 
was strange and harsh, as if it ushered in a new 
era of unaccustomed things. They sat up late 
talking over the future, and it was long before 
either one could fall into anything like a dream¬ 
less sleep. 

Steve’s father, perhaps remembering his own 
youth, had provided him with an enormous Big 
Ben alarm clock, and the boy’s head seemed 
hardly to have cleared of its thoughts before the 
gong began to clang. Grumbling, he got up to 
shut it off and look at the time; to his astonish¬ 
ment it was seven o’clock. Hastily he went to 
beat on Ted’s door, and soon the two boys were 
leaping about with a dozen others under the cold 
shower. Their toilets were made quickly, and 
their breakfast was a matter of a few minutes. 
As they hurried down the Elm Arch, they saw 
boys in every stage of undress rushing towards 
the chapel, some of them adjusting neckties and 
buttoning collars as they ran. Steve and Ted 
simply followed the others into the building and 
took seats near the front. The chapel bell beat 
more feverishly; the bustle increased with every 
second; and then very suddenly the organ 
stopped, everything became quiet, and the school 


22 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

rose as one man to repeat the Lord’s Prayer, with 
the Head leading. 

Although his personality and reputation were, 
of course, familiar to them, neither boy had ever 
seen the Head before. Tall and erect he stood, 
his hair almost pure white, but his body as strong 
and lithe as if he were still in college. He had 
about him a native dignity which was very im¬ 
pressive, and enabled him without effort to domi¬ 
nate that gathering of six hundred restless boys. 
The habitual expression on his face was a sad one, 
and there were deep lines there which showed 
that he had not found life all joy. It was his 
voice especially which interested Steve. Rich, 
deep, and musical, it throbbed with emotion as he 
prayed for the welfare of the school and its mem¬ 
bers. Even Ted, who was not given to sentiment, 
could not help having unusual quavers run up 
and down his spine as he listened. Certainly the 
Head was a man whom everybody must respect. 
It was only later that Steve learned how much he 
was loved by graduates and boys alike, how they 
lovQd to cheer him by his first name, and how 
warmly he was greeted at alumni gatherings all 
over the United States. 

After a hymn, a Bible-reading, and a prayer. 


THE SCHOOL 


23 


the Registrar made the announcements for the 
day,—so many that it seemed as if he would never 
have done. One fact, however, was impressed 
upon Steve’s mind,—that the new boys were to 
report at once to certain personages called Class 
Officers, to have their schedules of recitations 
made out and to arrange their work. When Steve 
arrived at the room of the Lower Middle Class 
Officer, Mr. Hewitt, he found there a long line of 
waiting boys. Right in front of him was one of 
the biggest youths Steve had ever seen, at least 
six feet, three inches in height, with enormous 
shoulders, long rangy arms, and a bull neck. His 
blond hair, cut pompadour, made him resemble 
a heavy-weight pugilist, but his face was mild in 
its expression, and he seemed rather bewildered 
in his attitude. As Steve took his place in the 
line, the giant turned to him and asked, Say, 
do you know what to do with this thing? ” He 
handed Steve a blank with the name Joseph Wil¬ 
liam Watson, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, in a 
sprawling handwriting across the top. It was cov¬ 
ered with smutches and erasures where the owner 
had tried to revise it, without, however, knowing 
very much what he was doing. 

Sure, I can tell you,” answered Steve. Go 


24 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


up to the desk and get a fresh blank, and then 
we^ll work it out together/’ 

Long before Joe’s turn in the line had been 
reached, Steve had cleared up his problems for 
him, with the result that Mr. Hewitt, a tall, thin, 
fidgety man with a worried look on his face, read¬ 
ily made out their schedules, placing them for the 
most part in the same divisions in Latin, English, 
Algebra, and French. As Steve walked out, Joe 
caught up with him, and the two went back to 
Bishop Hall, where, it appeared, Joe had a room 
on the top floor. It did not take Steve long to 
discover that Joe, with his colossal body, had no 
corresponding intellect. He asked the most child¬ 
ish questions, accepting the answers in a good- 
natured way. He seemed, indeed, like a New¬ 
foundland puppy, awkward and clumsy, but in¬ 
variably even-tempered. 

“You look as if you were made for a football 
player,” said Steve, as they walked along. “ I 
suppose you’re going out for the team.” 

“ I guess so,” replied Joe rather indifferently. 
“ The coach seemed to think yesterday that I’d 
better try it. It’s a lot of hard work though.” 

“ Of course you’ve played before? ” 

“ Yes, I’ve been guard on the High School team 


THE SCHOOL 


25 


down in Harrisburg, but that isn’t quite the same 
as playing on Andover. Aren’t you going to sign 
up for football? ” 

“ I don’t know. Do you think I would have 
any chance? ” 

“ Why not? You’re big and powerful, and you 
look fast on your feet. Besides I’d be willing to 
bet that you’ve got some brains, which I haven’t. 
Come along with me this afternoon and we’ll try 
it out together.” 

All right. What time’s the practice? ” 

Two o’clock, up near the Gymnasium. I’ll 
stop for you on my way.” 

There were no formal recitations that morning, 
and Joe and Steve spent their time talking with 
Ted about their work and wondering about their 
prospective teachers. Joe was chiefly interested 
in discovering whether any of his courses would 
be “ snaps,” for he had never yet been able to 
move fast or far on the royal road to learning. 
Steve, who had always been a faithful pupil in 
grammar school, was prepared to study hard, and 
was really eager to do well. As for Ted, it was 
soon evident that he was naturally the brightest 
of the trio, but it was equally certain that he did 
not propose to let himself be worn out prema- 


26 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

turely by excessive study. He instinctively 
craved companionship, and was frankly social in 
his habits. Already, although he had been in 
Andover only a few hours, he knew nearly every¬ 
body in the dorm ” by his first name. He had 
spent his spare minutes in roaming about from 
one room to another, picking up stray bits of in¬ 
formation regarding his profs and their pe¬ 
culiar traits, all of which he retailed in due season 
to his two friends. His restless keen black eyes 
saw everything, and he had a dozen schemes sim¬ 
mering in his mind. Too light and small for any 
proficiency in athletics, he was a born diplomatist 
and politician, and he was fully aware that there 
were phases of school life in which those qualities 
might serve a purpose. 

Right after lunch, Steve and Joe hastened to 
the Gymnasium, where they put on football togs 
and ran out by the Swimming Pool and the Base¬ 
ball Cage to the playing-fields. Steve had never 
seen anything like them before. Here was a great 
stretch of greensward, on which at least a dozen 
gridirons had been marked out, and there were 
groups practising on each. In the distance he 
could see a cinder running-track, with a back¬ 
ground of tall pine-trees. A perfect baseball 


THE SCHOOL 


27 


diamond, with rows of bleachers for the specta¬ 
tors, was not far off. The school football field, 
which they soon reached, was on higher ground 
still, and from it Steve could see very clearly the 
Memorial Tower and the clock on Alumni Hall. 
As he looked around, he noticed how acre after 
acre of ground had been graded, solely for the 
purpose of making sound bodies for Andover boys. 

On the school field nearly a hundred sturdy 
figures, all candidates for the squad, were lining 
up, and Steve’s heart sank as he realized what the 
competition for places must be. Joe pointed out 
to Steve the Coach, Fred Davis, a former captain 
at Yale, who stood silently regarding the recruits 
and occasionally snapping out an order. He was 
a mountain of a man, with a chest as broad as a 
doorway and a jaw like the Rock of Gibraltar. 
Near him was Red Larsen, the Andover captain, 
who had the reputation of being the fastest back- 
field man in school. All around him Steve no¬ 
ticed boys who were heavier and apparently 
stronger than he, and his hopes of making the 
eleven cooled perceptibly minute by minute. 

Suddenly he found himself in a long line with 
perhaps fifty others. One by one those ahead of 
him plunged at a dummy figure, some awkwardly. 


28 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


a few with a skill which was born of practice. 
When Steve’s turn came, he attempted to imitate 
the others, and, running with all his might, he 
threw himself at the padded bag and embraced 
it; but he let his hands slip, and the dummy 
eluded his clutches. Cling to it tighter,” Steve 
heard a voice say, and realized that the Coach was 
talking to him. Before he had withdrawn, he 
saw Joe descend upon the dummy, envelop it in 
his long arms, and drag it desperately down, in 
what was the best tackle yet made. ‘‘ Step aside,” 
said the Coach to Joe, who was thus lined up with 
a group of the more promising prospects for the 
squad. To Steve remained the less enviable lot 
of having to spend days in learning to do through 
observation and hard labor what Joe had appar¬ 
ently accomplished so easily. Within a week Joe 
had a position on the regular eleven, but Steve 
was kept busy mastering the rudiments of the 
game. 

After practice, Joe and Steve had a bath and a 
plunge in the pool, and then went to dinner, where 
they ate like hungry healthy animals. Later in the 
evening the three friends sat together in Joe’s large 
room on the third floor of Bishop, looking out 
through the open window towards distant Mount 


THE SCHOOL 


29 


Monadnock, behind which the sun was setting in 
one of those gorgeous beds of pink and gold and 
purple for which Andover Hill is renowned. Steve 
was sore in his muscles and so stiff that he hardly 
cared to move; but he was happy beyond expres¬ 
sion in what he had done and seen. 

It’s a great place,” he said, as he rubbed his 
tired legs, ‘‘ and we’re going to have a grand time 
here.” 

“Yes,” put in Joe, whose musings were evi¬ 
dently all of athletic victories. “ And it looks as 
if the team would be a corker.” 

“ We’re going to have a good chance here in 
this dorm,” added Ted, whose thoughts were run¬ 
ning in another channel. “ Why, some of the 
biggest men in school are right here around us. 
If we don’t get along, it’s our own fault.” 

“ Whether we get along or not,” concluded 
Steve, with what was unmistakably the final word 
for the night, “ we’re part of a real school. A 
fellow ought to grow to be a man here if he’s go¬ 
ing to be one anywhere. I’m mighty glad I 
came.” 

There were no audible dissenters, from this 
opinion among those present. 


II 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 

Steve's next few days were very busy, for he 
had to get acquainted with a whole new society or 
civilization, in which the code was altogether dif¬ 
ferent from anything he had ever known before. 
It was a week before he understood exactly what 
he was expected not to do. Imitating the other 
fellows whom he saw around him, he ran out one 
morning to chapel bareheaded, only to hear a cry. 
Hi, prep, go back and put on your cap! " He 
soon learned that newcomers were forbidden to 
walk down Main Street to the center of the town, 
but must take the parallel Bartlet Street instead. 
When his seat in chapel was assigned him, he dis¬ 
covered by observation that he must wait until 
all those nearer the pulpit had left their places 
before he could start out. In short, he was in a 
community with set customs and traditions, which 
those who were wise obeyed implicitly. A great 
school is the most conservative of institutions, and 
there is no spot where radicalism or deviation 

from the normal is less popular. 

30 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 31 

As a mere “ prep,” Steve had few rights which 
any one was bound to respect. He could not at¬ 
tend class meetings; he was assigned a rear place 
in all processions; and he was warned to main¬ 
tain a discreet silence when discussion was going 
on among the older men. The unpardonable sin, 
as he soon realized, was to be fresh.” Aside 
from these restrictions, he was not made uncom¬ 
fortable. He was, it is true, compelled to march 
like a convict in the time-honored prep parade ” 
on the Saturday night after his arrival; but this 
was really no ordeal, and the actual hazing which 
he underwent was negligible. 

Steve found that his schedule called for nine¬ 
teen hours of classroom work a week, divided in 
irregular fashion, with holidays on Wednesday 
and Saturday afternoons. Most of his recitations 
were in the new Alumni Hall, and it took him 
some time to find his way around the huge build¬ 
ing with its many corridors and doors. It pleased 
him particularly to hear that he could study in 
his own dormitory room during hours when he 
had no recitations, and could thus be completely 
by himself. Such freedom as this seemed de¬ 
lightful, but he soon discovered that it was per¬ 
mitted only because students at Andover are 


32 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

treated as if they are old enough to bear respon¬ 
sibility. If it is found they cannot, they shortly 
disappear. 

Like many of the boys who came to Andover 
every year, Steve had been quite accustomed to 
disorder in his classrooms. In the grammar 
schools in his home, the pupils played all sorts 
of pranks, and the punishments inflicted, even 
when the offense was deliberate, were not severe. 
He had been told enough by his father, however, 
to understand that conditions in Andover were 
quite different, and he had been speciflcally coun¬ 
selled not to be “ smart.He wisely made up 
his mind that, whatever happened^ he would be 
cautious and not let his love of practical jokes 
carry him into trouble. 

With Ted as his companion, Steve went right 
after chapel to his first class,—an English recita¬ 
tion under Mr. Hobson, a brisk and dapper little 
man, partly bald, with a cold and cynical glance, 
who seemed to see everything that went on. 
When the thirty-odd boys had assembled, some 
running in nervously, others, more sophisticated, 
sauntering in as if this were a minor phase of 
academic life, Mr. Hobson made a little speech, 
outlining the program for the fall and telling 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 33 

them what books to buy. When he had finished, 
a ferret-faced boy on the back seat raised his hand 
and said, Please, sir, shall we pay for the books 
or charge them? Mr. Hobson, who was known • 
among the students as Chilly,’’ because of his 
frigidity of manner, looked at the youngster, saw 
that he was trying to “ show off,” and then said, 

“ Why, we have a bright little boy with us to-day. 
We must watch this clever little fellow to see 
that he doesn’t go too fast for us.” The fresh ” 
student, effectually squelched, turned a deep 
crimson, and made no further attempts at wit. 
Steve soon perceived that, in the average Andover 
classroom, a few words from the lips of a sarcastic 
prof ” were as effective as a whipping would 
have been in many other schools. 

He found, of course, that he had all kinds of 
teachers, each with his own individual method. 
The universal penalty imposed for failure to pre¬ 
pare class-work or for disorder of any sort was the 
demerit, and more than eight of these on the 
registrar’s books meant suspension from school. 
Some teachers gave demerits frequently; others 
never used them as a punishment. One or two 
instructors were humorous,—or tried to be,—and 
seemed to like to joke and tell funny stories. One 


34 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


looked to be irritable, but it turned out later that 
he was very lenient and kind-hearted. Even 
Chilly ” Hobson was good-natured enough with 
pupils who tried to do their best. Each teacher 
had his peculiarities, which it took Steve a week 
or more to get accustomed to. So far as he could 
learn, however, most of them were well-informed 
in their subjects, and meant business. 

Each year at Andover, however, there was 
likely to be a goat teacher, a new man, unused 
to the traditions of the school and perhaps un¬ 
suited by temperament to remain there. Of such 
a prof ” the more mischievous boys would 
quickly take advantage. Steve soon began to 
hear stories about the house-prof ’’ in Dunster 
Hall, who could not seem to get things under his 
control. Steve used to meet him frequently on 
the street,—a big, dignified-looking man, who 
could have whipped any two ordinary boys in a 
fair fight. But he was slightly deaf, and his mind 
moved slowly; hence he was never quite sure of 
himself. His name was Henry Bailey Morris, 
but he had been affectionately christened 
“ Doggy,’^ mainly because of certain obvious de¬ 
ficiencies in facial pulchritude. 

Steve happened to be with '' Babe South- 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 35 

worth, the smallest man in his class, one day when 
he asked Doggy ’’ for an excuse to go down¬ 
town. Mr. Morris looked down at “ Babe ” for a 
few seconds with a grave expression, as if seeking 
to comprehend the boy’s motives, and finally said, 
in a deep, sepulchral voice, “For how long do 
you desire this privilege? ” Gee,” commented 
“ Babe ” afterwards, it was all I could do to 
keep from snickering in his face. He looked as if 
I had asked for a check for a million dollars.” 

Did you get the excuse? ” “ Yes, but I believe 
now that he thinks I am going to try to rob the 
bank.” 

Doggy’s ” dormitory was not the most peace¬ 
ful spot on Andover Hill. One evening, about a 
month after school had begun, the inhabitants of 
Bishop heard a frightful racket in Dunster, which 
was not far away. Ted Sherman, who was always 
on the lookout for excitement, climbed quietly 
down the fire-escape and stole over to Dunster, 
where he could see that a barrel full of cans and 
crockery had been rolled down the stairs into the 
front corridor. Ted waited a moment and then, 
observing preparations for another exploit, re¬ 
treated behind a massive elm, where he could 
watch the proceedings. Peering out, he could see 


36 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

BabeSouthworth and three other rascals evi¬ 
dently preparing a surprise in the third story. 
Suddenly down came what was apparently a box 
with streamers of lighted paper trailing behind it 
like the tail of a comet. Striking the ground with 
a tremendous crash, it exploded, scattering stones 
and bricks in every direction. With what was 
unquestionably premeditated villainy, the win¬ 
dows of the dormitory opened simultaneously and 
yells of terror burst from the throats of occupants. 
To anybody in Ted’s strategic position the affair 
seemed ridiculous, but a passer-by must have 
thought that all the fiends of hell had broken 
loose. 

To add to the uproar, the boys in the neigh¬ 
boring dormitories could not resist the temptation 
to respond in kind, and soon everybody on the 
Hill was leaning out, blowing a horn or whistling 
or making some kind of a noise. Meanwhile 

Doggy,” attired in a short purple-green wrapper 
which revealed the mysteries of a fat and bulging 
calf, descended the steps of Dunster and inspected 
the smoking pile of rubbish. Some one must 
have dropped that,” he said in his heavy, delib¬ 
erate way, while the boys in the dormitory, who 
had gathered around him with feigned curiosity. 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 37 

asked him foolish questions. While they were 
standing there, however, the form of the Head 
loomed up out of the darkness, and the fellows 
silently stole off, not without the consciousness 
that they had been noticed. In fifteen seconds 
Doggy was left alone to explain the cause of 
the rumpus. 

Just what happened later nobody seemed to 
know, but it was generally understood that the 
Head called together Babe ” Southworth and 
some of the other conspirators, and that they 
emerged from the interview with faces visibly 
sad. The Head, when his anger was aroused, was 
not inclined to mince words, and he had evidently 
made the situation quite clear to the residents of 
Dunster. As for Mr. Morris, he did not appear in 
Andover after Christmas, and the vacancy in the 
teaching staff was filled by a less imposing but 
more sophisticated instructor. 

It took only a short time for Steve to notice 
that in his various classes the sheep were being 
gradually separated from the goats. The loafers 
were soon detected and made to work or get out. 
The dumbbells,’^ as they were called, were 
dropped into lower classes, or given special treat¬ 
ment. The Andover system was to expel the de- 


38 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

liberate idler ruthlessly, but to do everything to 
assist the slow, plodding boy who was doing his 
best. Steve himself had never been in any sense 
a scholar, but he spent long hours over his Latin 
and his Algebra, and soon found that his instruc¬ 
tors were willing to take special pains with him. 
Ted Sherman, who was naturally bright but also 
naturally indolent, received absolutely no mercy 
when he flunked an examination. 

In his Algebra class, Steve was seated beside 
a dark-haired, dark-eyed, rather supercilious- 
looking boy, who was dressed much more neatly 
than most of those around him and seemed, for 
some reason, older in manner. Occasionally 
Steve exchanged greetings with him, and gradu¬ 
ally the two became better acquainted. His name 
was Harold Cabot Manning, from Boston, where 
his family had a house on Commonwealth Ave¬ 
nue. His pronunciation of Ha/i-vard and ca/in’t 
made his station in life perfectly evident. He 
had travelled widely, had read most of the im¬ 
portant classics, and had had a preliminary train¬ 
ing at home and with tutors which made his work 
at Andover very easy. In fact, he seemed like 
the aristocrat he was. With his carefully brushed 
hair, his well-pressed trousers, his stiff white col- 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 39 

lar, and immaculate shoes, he looked effeminate 
to some of his associates and snobbish to others. 
But there was something genuine about him 
which Steve liked. Hal, as Steve began to call 
him, was above all ‘‘ kid ” tricks. He viewed 
childish pranks with the scorn of maturity. Fur¬ 
thermore he was quite willing to help Steve and 
Joe over knotty problems connected with the 
Binomial Theorem. So it was that Hal, although 
discussed with suspicion at first by Joe and Ted, 
became before many weeks had passed an inti¬ 
mate member of Steve’s group. If Joe was like 
Porthos in bulk and strength and slowness of 
mind, Hal had the haughtiness and pride of Athos. 
Ted, with his clever ways and politician’s skill, 
was undoubtedly Aramis. As for Steve, he was 
still potentially D’Artagnan, and the natural 
leader of the four. 

As they grew better acquainted, they explored 
the Hill and its surroundings with all the eager¬ 
ness of strange eyes. It was Ted who led them 
into the Grill, a dark underground room where 
the students could invest their spare cash in 
steaks and chops, and,—what was perhaps more 
to be desired,—could smoke during fixed hours 
and still be within the law. Joe and Steve were 


40 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

at once in training, and the Grill offered few real 
allurements to them, but Ted was a devotee of 
the cigarette and soon promised to become what 
was known in the expressive school slang as a 
“ Grill Hound/’ The room itself, which was 
panelled in dark oak and divided into small al¬ 
coves or dens with a table and benches in each, 
had much that was attractive about it, especially 
for boys who had money to spend. Ted, like all 
the ‘‘ preps,” had to sit always on the south side 
of the room, but this did not prevent him from 
making the acquaintance of all sorts and condi¬ 
tions of boys, whom he soon learned to call by 
their first names or their nicknames. Having no 
class during the first hour in the morning, he 
formed the habit of going to chapel without eat¬ 
ing and then strolling to the Grill, where he would 
fill himself with food and snatch an after-break¬ 
fast cigarette like a true club man. It was a bad 
practice for his health, as Steve warned him more 
than once; but Ted cared nothing for sports, and 
his chief diversion was in the society of others, 
as he found it in the Grill. As for Hal, he smoked 
when he cared to do so, but he was more likely 
to take his cigarette to his own room, taking care 
to blow the smoke up the chimney so that his 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 41 

house prof would not detect the odor and pun¬ 
ish him with a dreaded smoking demerit. 

The fellows whom they met were of every kind 
and walk of life. Some of them, as Steve discov¬ 
ered later, were poor boys who were working their 
way through school by waiting on table in the 
eating-houses, running laundry agencies, or doing 
odd jobs around the Academy office. It interested 
Steve to see that nobody seemed to know or care 
whether a boy was doing work of this kind or 
not. Some of the leaders of the school were ap¬ 
parently waiters in the Dining Hall. It was a 
thorough democracy, in which everybody was 
ranked according to his ability and achievement. 
There were also a number of men from foreign 
countries, including even China and Japan; and 
these, too, were treated as equals, especially if 
they had, like some of the Chinese, skill in soccer 
football or other games. Steve once counted in 
Bishop Hall boys from California, Colorado, 
Texas, Mississippi, Georgia, Tennessee, Ohio, 
Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Virginia, New York, 
and all the New England States. It was certainly 
interesting to sit down in a group of such fellows 
and get the different points of view. 

On Sunday afternoons, when there was no foot- 


42 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

ball practice, the four friends liked to go explore 
ing in the surrounding countryside. Once they 
took canoes and went paddling on the Shawsheen, 
winding in and out, through marshes and 
meadows, in a country which seemed very wild to 
Steve, who had always pictured Massachusetts 
as a continuous succession of factories and houses, 
with every foot of land under cultivation. They 
early came across the beautiful woodland path 
down to Pomp’s Pond, an attractive bit of clear 
deep water nestling at the foot of steep hills. 
Once, at Ted’s suggestion they started cross-coun¬ 
try on a walk to Prospect Hill, only to find them¬ 
selves struggling through swamps and cranberry 
bogs and fighting their way through alder-bushes. 
When they reached the summit, however, they 
had a glorious view for miles and miles, even as 
far as Salem and the ocean, and felt well repaid 
for their toil. In every direction there were for¬ 
est paths which they used to try, even at the risk 
of getting out of school bounds and being ex¬ 
pelled. 

It was Founders’ Day, perhaps, which brought 
home forcefully to the boys, even to the cynical 
Ted, something of the associations among which 
they were placed. In mid-October the school was 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 43 

given a full Saturday holiday. On the night be¬ 
fore, one of the teachers, an authority on Andover 
history, talked in the Gymnasium on the tradi¬ 
tions of the Academy, using lantern slides for il¬ 
lustrations. Early Saturday morning old grads 
appeared in little groups, wandering about and 
pointing out to one another the spots which they 
once had known. At chapel, a distinguished 
judge, a man of international fame, told the boys 
of the greatness of the ancient school. Then in 
long procession, with a brass band in the van, 
the undergraduates and alumni marched to the 
Memorial Tower, where they dedicated a granite 
boulder placed on the spot where George Wash¬ 
ington once addressed Andover students in 1789. 
As part of the program, a cabinet minister and 
a general in the United States Army made 
speeches, in which were frequent references to 

the spirit of the founders,’^ the richness of our 
heritage,” and the splendor of our constitution.” 

Look here,” said Hal, as the speaking program 
was drawing to a close, if any one else mentions 
^ our glorious tradition,^ I’m going to throw a 
brick.” Oh, forget it,” answered Steve. 

Haven’t you any sentiment at all? Wait until 
you’re sixty and see how you feel! ” That’s all 


44 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


right/' was Hal's reply, ‘‘ but you can get too ' 
much even of a good thing." In spite of this 
comment, the affair was really impressive to the 
boys, and helped to reveal to them the spirit of 
the Hill. Even Ted had to admit that such cele¬ 
brations are well worth having. 

But there were other matters to be considered 
besides dedicating boulders. Six weeks after the 
opening of school came what was known as the 
first “ rating," when grades were handed in by the 
teachers and some evidence was thus secured as 
to the intellectual ability of the boys. Steve, who 
had been warned by his father, knew that much 
depended on what he accomplished at the very 
start. If a boy in Andover once wins a reputa¬ 
tion as a scholar, it is not easy to lose it; on the 
other hand, if he becomes known as a loafer or a 
bonehead," he is branded for a long time to 
come. Steve's mind was slow, but retentive, and 
he had to stay up late at night poring over his 
French and Latin. But he had his reward when, 
at the ^‘rating," he passed every subject; while 
even Joe, who had very little comprehension of 
what he was doing, managed to escape with fail¬ 
ures in only two courses of four hours each. He 
was thus still eligible for football. The Andover 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 45 

system automatically placed on the no-excuse 
list/’—colloquially called Non-Ex/’—any boy 
who failed in more than eight hours of work. 
Once on ‘‘ Non-Ex/’ the delinquent could not 
represent the school on any athletic team, and 
was allowed no excuses out of his dormitory dur¬ 
ing study periods until he had reduced his failures 
to below eight hours. 

Hal, as was to be expected from one of his in¬ 
telligence, had honors in all his subjects. With¬ 
out plugging ” very hard, he had concentrated 
on the essential things, and had had no difficul¬ 
ties whatever. With the subtle Ted, however, it 
was different. Ignoring the warnings of his 
friends, he had done very little, trusting to get 
through by bluffing,” with a final night of 
“ cramming.” On the morning after the rating ” 
announcements were made, he turned up in 
Steve’s room with a disgusted expression on his 
face. 

Isn’t it a mess? ” he asked bitterly. They’ve 
put me on ^ Non-Ex.’ ” 

“ What else did you expect? ” queried Steve in 
reply. “You haven’t cracked a book since you 
came here.” 

“Bosh!” grunted Ted. “I thought I could 


46 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


get through all right. The trouble is these profs 
here are too darned stiff. I always passed in 
Omaha High School. As far as that’s concerned, 
I guess I’m just as smart as you are.” 

‘‘ Of course you are, and a good deal brighter. 
That’s why you have no kick at all coming. You 
thought that you could get away with murder. 
Now maybe you’ll learn that these profs here 
know exactly how to handle young fellows like 
you.” 

“ Well, I’ll put it over on ’em next time,” 
threatened Ted. 

“ Better not try, my boy,” said Steve paternally. 

The odds are all against you. Besides the best 
thing that could happen to you is a heavy jolt like 
this. If you would keep away from the Grill, 
settle down to business, and stop trying to be a 
^ tin-horn sport,’ there’d be some hope for you. 
Just remember that if you’re still down at the 
next ‘ rating,’ you’ll be put on probation. The 
next thing you know, you’ll be ^ fired,’ and Omaha 
will go into mourning for her favorite son.” 

I don’t care much now whether I’m ‘ fired ’ or 
not,” responded Ted. I’m sick of a place where 
you have to ‘ grind ’ all the time.” 

“Oh, stop the whining, Ted,” interpolated 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 47 

Steve. “Won’t you ever learn that this is one 
place where you can’t beat the game? ” 

It was this incident, combined with another 
episode which he saw, that persuaded Ted even¬ 
tually to see the wisdom of reform. In his Al¬ 
gebra class there was a giant named “ Big Pete ” 
Russell, who played left guard on the eleven, and 
was counted upon to be an important factor in 
the annual game with Exeter. Pete, with his 
long arms, shaggy hair, and flattened nose, looked 
a good deal like a gorilla. He had been at An¬ 
dover two years, knew all the ropes (as he put it), 
and felt that he was safe in whatever he did. 
Ted had seen him use a “ crib ” in class on more 
than one occasion, and had even wondered 
whether he himself might not do better to follow 
some such practice. No one seemed to pay much 
attention to Pete, who, among the undergradu¬ 
ates, was considered a privileged character be¬ 
cause of his athletic prowess. 

The Algebra teacher, a gruff, rather sleepy- 
looking stout person, called “ Bull ” Churchill, 
with happy moments of inspiration when he made 
his subject almost romantic, was apparently 
oblivious to Pete’s practices, and Pete accordingly 
was tempted to become more and more open in 


48 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


his cheating. Sometimes he carried into the 
recitation room carefully prepared answers to the 
problems, which he would then copy on the board, 
confident that he was in no danger of being de¬ 
tected. The sentiment of the class, if a vote 
could have been taken, would have been one of 
disapproval; on the other hand, no one was likely 
to call attention to the matter, and certainly not 
a boy would have reported it. School chivalry in 
such cases follows a very definite code. If he 
wants to do it, and can do it without getting 
caught, it’s none of my affair,” would have ex¬ 
pressed the feeling of most of the fellows in Pete’s 
vicinity. 

On the morning of the final examination for the 

rating,” Ted sat diagonally behind Pete, where 
he could observe the situation. When the paper 
was handed to him, Pete took it, glanced it over 
hastily, scratched his head in despair, and then 
began looking at his cuffs. Here, as Ted could 
readily see, Pete had a wealth of assistance, which 
he stealthily commenced to copy on the blank 
sheets of paper before him. Meanwhile old 

Bull ” was sitting at his desk on the platform, 
busily engaged in correcting examinations and 
apparently quite indifferent to what was going 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 49 

on in front of him. Suddenly he stood up, and, 
with an almost incredible rapidity, descended 
upon Pete, lifted up the boy’s arm, pulled back 
the coat-sleeves, and then said abruptly, Leave 
the room.” 

But, sir,” stammered Pete, I—I-” 

‘‘We’ll have no argument, young man; just 
go.” 

Pete, quite speechless, took up his hat and 
slunk out the door. What could he say? He 
had been caught at his little game, and the school 
code of honor could offer him now no satisfaction. 

Before the day was over, everybody was talking 
about the incident, including the four friends, who 
had had as yet no first-hand experience with the 
inexorability of Andover discipline. 

“ Do you suppose that he’ll be ‘ fired ’ ? ” asked 
Joe, more to make conversation than because he 
had any hope. 

“ Sure he will,” replied Steve. “ They never 
let a man stay here when he’s been caught crib¬ 
bing.” 

“ But it will smash the team into smithereens,” 
wailed Joe, who, having played tackle for the two 
previous games, knew what he was talking about. 

“ Much the faculty care about that,” muttered 



50 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

Ted. Most of them don’t care whether we win 
or lose. Any decent sport could see that Pete’s a 
good sort who doesn’t mean to be a criminal. 
They might at least consider the reputation of the 
school.” 

You certainly have a lot to learn,” was Steve’s 
retort. “ I’m mighty glad this school doesn’t 
stand for that sort of thing. If we lose the game, 
it won’t be the faculty’s fault, but Pete’s. He 
knew what he was doing and the risk he took, just 
as a man does when he steals out of the till or 
sets fire to a house. If he had been a good An¬ 
dover man, he wouldn’t have taken such a 
chance.” 

Right or wrong, the faculty did not hesitate, 
and within a week Pete had packed up his goods 
and chattels and departed for his home. Retribu¬ 
tion followed quickly upon wrong-doing, and 
Pete’s extraordinary football ability had made no 
difference whatever in his fate. It was strict jus¬ 
tice, promptly carried out. When Pete was gone, 
the Head talked to the school one morning in 
chapel, and the entire six hundred boys sat spell¬ 
bound. He used speech which all could under¬ 
stand. 

Young men,” he said, in substance, there 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 51 

must be standards of honor in any great school like 
this, or else it will become demoralized. One of 
your number has broken a long-established regula¬ 
tion, and has paid the price. The rules here at 
Andover are well-known to every boy who enters. 
Furthermore, cheating is cheating, whether it is 
done in the classroom or on the stock exchange. 
Sooner or later every cheater is discovered, and 
pays the penalty for his offense. Life is like that. 
Always remember that it is better in the end to 
fail honorably than it is to prosper for a brief 
period by lies. The boy who cheats in an ex¬ 
amination is deceiving himself. He, whether he 
be found out at once or not, is the true victim. 
We hope here in Andover to train young men who 
are not ashamed to confess their ignorance, and 
who are prepared to endure the punishment if 
for any reason they fail to study. We want our 
boys to pass; but we would far rather have them 
' flunk ^ than pass by means of deception. And, 
eager though I am to win the game with Exeter, 
I would far rather lose than win it through the 
work of a boy who has proved himself untrust¬ 
worthy. I don’t believe I need to add anything 
more.” 

As the Head sat down, the school applauded 


52 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

him to the echo, and there were few after that 
who ventured to defend the absent Pete. Indeed 
it was only a few days before he was completely 
forgotten. 

This incident, combined with others, showed 
Steve that school is like a cross-section of life, in 
which there are representatives of every grade of 
society and in which one must sooner or later 
choose his associates from those who are most 
congenial to him in tastes and ideals. Out of 
six hundred boys, there were bound to be some 
who were tricky or vicious. Steve was no prig. 
He was well aware that there were some boys who 
took pride in breaking rules, that some went out 
at night when they thought that they might not 
be detected, and that a few played bridge and 
other games for stakes. But he learned very soon 
that the sentiment of the best men, the school 
leaders, did not sanction such conduct. Steve 
never reasoned very much on these matters. In¬ 
stinctively he knew that some things were right 
and others wrong; and he preferred to be among 
the decent, law-abiding citizens. 

He saw also that a fellow, to go bad in Andover, 
must deliberately choose his course. Most of the 
boys were kept so busy with work and play that 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 53 

they had no spare time for dissipation. Further¬ 
more, the fellow who wished to lead the sporting 
life ” had to seek out opportunities for debauch¬ 
ery. None was ever placed at his door. 

By the end of six or eight weeks, then, Steve, 
and his friends in Bishop Hall as well, had begun 
to get their bearings. Certain things they ob¬ 
served were .‘‘not done,’^—that was sufficient. 
Each one of the four in the secret places of his 
heart was pondering on what he had seen and 
heard, and was making up his mind to act ac¬ 
cordingly. 


Ill 


THE GREAT GAME 

The supreme event of the Fall Term at 
Andover has always been the football game with 
Exeter, its traditional rival, a school of about the 
same size and founded by the same Phillips fam¬ 
ily. Naturally the two institutions have much in 
common. They are only thirty miles apart, and 
it is easy to get from one to the other. Every 
year they meet in football, hockey, basketball, 
tennis, track athletics, and baseball, and the con¬ 
tests are invariably fierce and exciting. Each 
school has a wholesome respect for the other’s 
prowess, and a corresponding joy when a victory 
is won. In after years at college, Andover and 
Exeter men invariably become the best of friends, 
and forget the competition which once kept them 
friendly enemies. 

From the day when Steve set foot in Andover 
station, he began to hear gossip about the coming 
football game,—the prospects of each team, the 

reputation of new players, the records of the 

54 


THE GREAT GAME 


55 


elevens in other years. He himself was kept on 
the Andover squad and given a place as substitute 
in the backfield; but there were old men who 
were much heavier and faster than he, and, al¬ 
though he played for two minutes in the game 
with the Dartmouth Freshmen, he knew very 
well that he had little chance of making the team. 
Joe, however, was placed at right tackle, where 
it seemed clear that he would not easily be super¬ 
seded. Weighing about one hundred and eighty- 
five pounds of bone and muscle, he played foot¬ 
ball with instinctive genius, and seemed by in¬ 
tuition to know what to do at critical moments. 
The brain which was sluggish in Latin became 
alert on the gridiron. He was indeed a tower of 
strength in the line. Before Pete Russell was 
dropped, it was thought that Andover would have 
the strongest defense in years, but his loss at left 
guard was irreparable. The Coach, however, said 
not a word when Pete disappeared; a lighter re¬ 
cruit was called up from the second team and 
assigned to the vacant guard position. 

Joe soon found that training on an Andover 
team was a different process from anything he 
had ever undertaken before. The men on the 
squad went out at two o’clock every afternoon. 


56 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

and spent an hour and a half in hard drill, often 
with vigorous scrimmages. Usually they were 
called together in the evening for signal practice 
or a brief lecture by the Coach. If a man on the 
regular eleven failed in a crisis, he was sometimes 
thrown ignominiously back to the second team. 
There was no favoritism, no indulgence or ex¬ 
cuse for weakness or failure. Nor was any player 
allowed to go his own way. Everything was sys¬ 
tematized. Each man supposedly knew his proper 
position in each formation, and, if he was not 
there, the blame fell on him. The Coach himself 
seldom uttered a word of praise or censure. To 
Joe and Steve, it all seemed like admirable dis¬ 
cipline. They recognized that they were being 
trained in manhood, and had no inclination to 
rebel against the orders they received. 

The captain. Red Larsen, who played right 
halfback, was probably the best-known man in 
school. Although he was not the most brilliant 
performer on the eleven, he was astonishingly 
steady. On the defense he could be trusted to 
bring down his man nine times out of ten; and, 
if he was a bit slow on end runs, he seldom fum¬ 
bled the ball. The quarterback, Rib Potter, 
was also thoroughly reliable, although he had 


THE GREAT GAME 


57 


never been tested in an Exeter game. In general, 
it was evident at the beginning that Andover 
would have a good average team, with few star 
players. Sometimes, however, an eleven of this 
type, properly trained and working in unison, is 
more efficient in the end than a team built around 
one man, no matter how good he may be. 

The earlier games on the schedule are always 
practice contests, the chief value of which is the 
help which they give the Coach in picking the 
best men. Different candidates were tried out 
for the various positions, until at last, when the 
game with the Yale Freshmen arrived, it was 
possible to get a fairly good idea as to how the 
team would be constituted. Fat Simonds,—a 
tubby youth weighing one hundred and ninety- 
five pounds,—held the center place against all 
aspirants. The guards were Heinie Foote and 
Lefty ” Heywood. Joe had the right tackle po¬ 
sition, with a big Swede named Bergstrom on the 
other side of the line; while the two ends were 
covered by Muggsy Hawkins and Tug ” 
Wilson. From end to end they averaged one hun¬ 
dred and seventy-three pounds, no small weight 
for a school eleven. In the backfield, besides Rib 
Potter and Red, were Lou Hammond at left half- 


58 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

back and '' Venus ” Burns at fullback. Burns had 
received his name, not because he was a paragon 
of youthful beauty, but rather through a rough 
irony, not uncommon among boys. A fellow six 
feet, six inches tall was known as “ Shorty Bout- 
well ; while another with an expression habitually 
ungracious answered to the title of Sweetie 
Pierce. Undergraduate wit in nicknames is likely 
to be more violent and cruel than subtle. 

Although the team lost to the Yale Freshmen, 
10-0, and to the Harvard Freshmen, 6-3, it 
seemed to be steadily gaining in confidence. 
Dartmouth Freshmen were beaten by a single 
drop-kick, which Venus Burns, when everything 
seemed lost, managed to put over from the thirty- 
yard line. In the last of the preliminary contests, 
that with Worcester Academy, Andover won 
handily, 18-0. It was not a season to boast 
about, but neither was it disheartening. 

During the week of the Exeter game, it must 
be confessed that little else is discussed on 
Andover Hill. Beginning on Monday morning, 
every member of the eleven is applauded as he 
enters chapel, and the period before the service 
starts is thus a continuous round of clapping, in 
which the younger boys are particularly noisy. 


THE GREAT GAME 


59 


On Thursday afternoon, the entire student body 
marches in column of fours to the playing fields, 
headed by two muscular youths carrying an 
Andover banner. The cheer-leaders, acting as 
marshals, carry huge blue megaphones bearing a 
white which they raise and lower in 

rhythmical unison while the boys chant “ A-N- 
D-O-V-E-R, Rah! Rah! Rah! ” keeping time with 
their marching feet. It is assumed that every 
fellow with any school spirit will turn out for 
these processions and yell until he is on the verge 
of tonsilitis. Once in a while a school freak 
defies convention and refuses to participate, but 
he invariably is penalized by ostracism. 

On the night before the game comes the mass¬ 
meeting in the Gymnasium, which is carefully 
planned to arouse enthusiasm to the highest point. 
At seven o’clock the undergraduates gather to 
sing songs and cheer. The head cheer-leader, as 
master of ceremonies, then calls for a long yell ” 
for the Coach, who is brought forward, es¬ 
corted by two stalwart cheer-leaders, one on each 
arm. On this occasion Coach Fred Davis, who 
had gone through six years with but one defeat 
by Exeter, had very little to say,—''We’ve just 
a good average team, fellows, but they’ll fight 


60 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

hard. Get behind them, show them that you’re 
with them, and they’ll make good. Remember, 
it’s All for Andover! ” 

Then followed cheers for the captain and for 
each of the eleven, who, however, are forbidden 
to speak at this time. The Manager was then 

lustily called for,—Bub ” Atwater,—^who read 

« 

from a sheaf of telegrams in his hand, looking 
very business-like: 

We’ll all be broke if you lose. 

(Signed), Andover Men at Princeton.” 

‘‘ We’re all with you to the finish. 

“ (Signed), Andover Men at Yale.” 

“ Best of wishes. 

(Signed), Girls at Abbot Academy.” 

All these, and others, were received with deafen¬ 
ing applause, as authentic messages. Only a few 
of the initiated knew that most of them were 
apocryphal, having been composed only a few 
minutes before by the resourceful manager, in ac¬ 
cordance with honored tradition. 

Calls for popular teachers were now raised, each 
one of whom had been advised beforehand that he 
would be wanted and was standing in the gallery 
nervously awaiting his turn. To the outsider. 


THE GREAT GAME 


61 


however, it all seemed beautifully spontaneous 
when the boys began their loud chant, We want 
Mac! We want Mac! And then there came 
forward, escorted by two cheer-leaders, old Mac 
himself, the Nestor of the faculty, and once one 
of the most popular teachers, but now retired. 
His hair was white and his shoulders bent, but 
his eye was still sparkling and he had not missed 
an Andover-Exeter game for forty years. Every¬ 
body was fond of him and liked to hear his voice; 
everybody listened as he told some humorous an¬ 
ecdote, and closed, as he had done at countless such 
meetings, by prophesying victory for the Andover 
blue. To many generations of boys he had been 
part of the Andover atmosphere, and no gather¬ 
ing of students would have been quite right with¬ 
out him. When he stepped down from the plat¬ 
form, the boys cheered him again and again. 
There were tears in the old gentleman’s eyes when 
he returned to his seat. 

The next on the program was Charlie ” Fos¬ 
ter, perhaps the best-beloved of the instructors, 
who read some verses which he had composed 
expressly for the occasion,—a poem with a re¬ 
frain, which the crowd soon learned, and which it 
roared out with gusto after each stanza. 


62 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

Quack, quack, quackity quack, the goose is hanging 
high; 

Quack, quack, quackity quack, the Blue can never 
die/’ 

The Gymnasium seemed filled to bursting with 
noise, sounding like the pounding of surf on a 
rockbound shore. 

Last of all, the boys demanded the Head, who 
was young in spirit as in the days when he was 
captain of Andover teams, thirty years before. 
He spoke simply but eloquently of the school’s 
athletic record, emphasizing its reputation for 
square and fair play, and pointing out the fact 
that only a clean victory was worth while. He 
praised the coach, the captain, and the players, 
told one or two stories of former contests, and 
ended with the hope that the morrow might be a 

perfect day.” 

Saturday dawned clear and cool,—ideal football 
conditions. The game was to be in Andover, and 
the boys spent their free hours during the morn¬ 
ing in hanging up blue pennants and decorating 
the outside of the dormitories with enormous 

A’s,” constructed hastily out of blue banners 
against a background of white sheets pinned to¬ 
gether. Recitations were not very well prepared, 
and the more tolerant and kindly teachers spent 


THE GREAT GAME 


63 


the hour in something outside the assigned work. 
Chilly Hobson read one of Stephen Leacock’s bur¬ 
lesques to his English class. The “ preps/’ most 
of whom had never seen an Andover-Exeter con¬ 
test, were on edge with excitement. Steve could 
barely sit still at his desk, and even Hal, who had 
a naturally cool temperament, was haired up.” 
As for Joe, who was actually to play, he seemed 
the calmest of all, and sat during his vacant pe¬ 
riods perusing the Boston morning papers, and 
grunting over their prognostications, which ob¬ 
viously favored Exeter. The Exeter eleven had 
won most of its preliminary contests, and was 
considered to be one of the strongest in years. 
Wise sportsmen, however, remembered that the 
favorite in an Andover-Exeter game is frequently 
the loser and that the newspaper dope ” is very 
often upset. 

Luncheon was hastily consumed and the entire 
school assembled on the Main Street, awaiting the 
arrival of the Exeter special train, due at one- 
thirty. At about quarter of two, the approach¬ 
ing rival clans could be heard marching up the 
hill, spelling out the letters, E-X-E-T-E-R,” 
in measured rhythm. Their leaders carried a 
large red banner, with the name of the school 


64 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

on it in white letters. As the procession came 
to the spot where the Andover boys were 
gathered, the Andover cheer leaders called for a 
long yell ” for Exeter, and it was given lustily. 
On marched the Exeter supporters in what seemed 
an unending line, and for the moment a thrill of 
friendly hatred ran up and down Ted’s backbone. 

Don’t they look like big men? ” spoke up Ted, 
as he watched the parade pass. 

Oh, no,” replied Hal, who liked to feel him¬ 
self more sophisticated than his Western friends. 
They’re no bigger, on the average, than we are.” 

Well, they certainly look confident,” rejoined 
Ted. I hope old Joe isn’t scared to death.” 

Just then Pop ” Cory, the head cheer-leader, 
gave the order to fall in. With the inimitable 
local brass band at the head, the Andover cohorts 
started off, in the usual column of fours. Quickly 
the musicians struck up Andover Rah! ” and the 
procession was in motion, singing the song of 
which they never seemed to tire. There is noth¬ 
ing like sounding brass and tinkling cymbal ” 
for providing inspiration, and soon Steve felt that 
nothing could stop the Andover team. 

The Andover playing fields are famous for their 
extent and beauty, and they never appear finer 


THE GREAT GAME 


65 


than on the afternoon of a big game. As Steve 
marched in through the gateway, he could see the 
Exeter banner floating over the stands on the 
opposite side of the gridiron, and could catch the 
echo of the Exeter cheers. Probably eight thou¬ 
sand people were there as spectators, and every 
seat was taken. 

It's wonderful, isn't it, Hal? " cried Ted, with 
unwonted enthusiasm as they sat down in the 
Andover cheering section, after a rapid scramble 
for positions. 

“ Well, it isn't as big a crowd as they get in the 
Stadium, but they certainly seem excited," replied 
the supercilious Hal, who had no intention of ad¬ 
mitting too much. 

Look here, you iceberg, can't you warm up at 
all? " 

But at that moment the Exeter eleven rushed 
on the fleld, looking huge in their red sweaters 
and stockings. Their supporters across the way 
rose like one man to cheer them. And then came 
the blue team, Red Larsen at their head, and the 
Andover crowd was at once on its feet. The band 
started up again, the cheer-leaders flung their 
sticks and megaphones into the air, and every¬ 
body seemed to be yelling. The two captains met 


66 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

in the center of the field and solemnly shook 
hands. A coin was tossed by the referee. Red 
Larsen looked at it, and tested the wind with 
moistened hand. Andover had won the toss and 
would receive the ball. The referee blew his 
whistle. The Andover men took their places in 
their territory, and the Exeter players, stern and 
determined, spread out in a line to follow the 
kick. Another whistle! The red fullback runs 
at the pigskin, sends it high in the air towards 
the blue goal, and the game is on. 

Straight into the waiting arms of Red Larsen it 
fell. He caught it, hugged it fast, and, glancing 
to left and right, started diagonally to the left, 
with his own men forming in front of him for 
interference. Five, ten, fifteen yards he covered 
before he was thrown. It was a fine gain, and 
the Andover stands gave him a short yell.” The 
ball was on Andover’s thirty-yard line. Rib 
Potter’s voice can be heard calling out signals: 

3-8-4-7,” and the ball is snapped to Lou Ham¬ 
mond, who skirts left end for four yards. The 
Andover bleachers are ecstatic. Then Red 
plunges at the opposing tackle for two yards more. 
The Andover eleven line up again. Rib surveys 
the situation and goes back for a punt. He kicks 


THE GREAT GAME 


67 


with unerring precision, low and to the right, and 
the ends, Hawkins and Wilson, are down under 
the ball, tackling the Exeter captain, Charlie 
Bingham, before he can move from his tracks. 
Now it is Exeter’s turn to reveal her strength. 
Crack,—three yards through Heinie Foote, the 
weak Andover guard! Crack,—four yards more 
through the same hole! Exeter discloses a punt 
formation, but, instead of kicking, tries another 
rush through Heinie. The Exeter benches are 
filled with shouting maniacs. The linesman meas¬ 
ures the distance, and then throws his arm to¬ 
wards the Andover goal. First down for Exeter! 

So Exeter pushes slowly but steadily down the 
field, past one white line and up to another, driv¬ 
ing again and again at the weak spot in the op¬ 
posing team. At last the visiting eleven reaches 
the Andover forty-yard line. Heinie Foote can 
scarcely stand, but fights doggedly on, resolved to 
use his every ounce of force in stopping the on¬ 
slaught. Once more a play is aimed at him; he 
holds with all his might, but, when the pile of 
players is torn apart by the referee, Heinie still 
lies there. Time ” is called. The Exeter stands 
give a cheer for Foote, and the Andover boys ap¬ 
plaud the courtesy. Heinie finally staggers to his 



68 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

feet, but can barely stand. The Andover Coach 
then beckons to '' Bevo Blackwell, the substi¬ 
tute guard, a powerful but inexperienced young¬ 
ster, who dashes madly on the field, reports to the 
referee, and takes his place in the line. Mean¬ 
while Heinie, supported by strong arms, staggers 
to the benches, while the Andover boys cheer him 
heartily. 

Bevo Blackwell has never before played in a 
big game of football. A new student at Andover 

that fall, he had been considered a kind of over- 

/ 

grown child, who might become a good linesman 
when he had rubbed off some of his awkwardness. 
His heart is beating like a trip-hammer, for he 
knows that it is his duty to fill that gap in the 
left side of the line. The Exeter signals ring 
sharply out; straight, as might have been ex¬ 
pected, the drive comes at Bevo. Charlie Stuart 
starts with terrific speed, and hits the line hard; 
it yields slightly, and seems to give. No! It is 
resisting. Slowly the Exeter men are being forced 
back. Bevo has thrown the Exeter team for a 
loss of two yards, and the Andover banners are 
flying frantically. In the stands Ted and Hal 
have shouted until their throats are raw. The 
tension seems almost too great to bear. 


THE GREAT GAME 


69 


Once again the Exeter team prepares. Signals 
are called, and a halfback shoots unexpectedly 
around right end. Get him, Muggsy,” yell the 
crowd. Muggsy waits a moment. Then with his 
red head he dives into the midst of a moving 
group of men and lays the Exeter back low. It 
is the third down, with twelve yards to gain. 
The Exeter men now fall back for consultation. 
Arms on each others' shoulders, they gather in a 
circle, and a whispered order goes from mouth to 
mouth. Then they come back and line up. Evi¬ 
dently the Exeter captain is to try a drop kick 
from the fifty-yard line,—an almost hopeless ef¬ 
fort. The ball is snapped back; the kick is made, 
a beautiful attempt, but it falls short and rolls 
between the goal posts. When it is brought back, 
Andover has the ball on her own twenty-yard 
line, and the home stands can breathe freely once 
more. 

The first quarter is called, with Andover's ball 
in the center of the field. The rest of one minute 
passes quickly, and the game is resumed. See¬ 
saw, back and forth, the ball goes, neither side 
being able to seize and hold a decisive advantage. 
Again and again the powerful Exeter backs drive 
at Bevo, but he holds like a stone wall. His op- 


70 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

portunity has come, and he has measured up to 
his responsibility. Nor can the Andover backs, 
Red and Rib, break loose for the long runs which 
they have made against weaker teams. It is ob¬ 
vious to the spectators that the two elevens are 
evenly matched, and that no one can prophesy 
the outcome. 

The first half is over, and the players run from 
the field to the Gymnasium for a badly-needed 
rub-down and talks from their respective coaches. 
In the interim the schools sing their favorite 
songs, each applauding the other with courteous 
rivalry. 

Can we make it, Hal? inquired Ted. 

Gee, I don't know," replied Hal, for once 
roused from his Boston imperturbability. But 
that Bevo is certainly a wonder. He stands up 
as if he had played in a dozen Exeter games." 

You bet he is. And maybe Red can tear loose 
this last half and make a touchdown. If he can 
only get some interference around that end, he’ll 
do it, all right." 

Look, there they come! " Sure enough, the 
Andover team were rushing out at top speed, as 
if they were resolved this time to smash their op¬ 
ponents’ defense to smithereens. 


THE GREAT GAME 


71 


Exeter received the ball, ran it back ten yards, 
and the game was on once more. They made one 
first down, but had to punt, and it was Andover’s 
ball on her twenty-yard line. Joe took the ball 
for the first time, making five yards through left 
tackle. Then, almost before the crowd realized it, 
the signal was shouted. Red Larsen’s tall figure 
was seen standing high, ready to throw a forward 
pass. The ball went twenty yards to the left, into 
the expectant hands of Tug Wilson, who sped on 
his way, with only two Exeter men between him 
and the goal. Every spectator was on his feet 
shouting madly. The Head was seen clutching 
the shoulders of a woman in front of him, and 
dancing up and down in delight. On went Tug. 
The first Exeter man threw himself recklessly at 
the flying figure, but Tug swerved sharply to the 
right and went along with speed only slightly 
diminished. And now all that lay between him 
and a touchdown was the Exeter fullback, Phil 
Edwards, a deadly tackier. On the Exeter fifteen- 
yard line, Edwards hurled himself at Tug, 
clutched desperately at one leg, and held on like 
grim death. Squirming and wriggling, but caught 
at last. Tug was brought to earth. 

Now was the critical moment. Twelve yards 


72 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

to go for a touchdown, but every inch of the road 
would be disputed by eleven furies. Rib called a 
signal. Straight through tackle went the play. 

Second down, eight yards to gain.^^ Now around 
right end; but Lou Hammond slipped, fell, and 
lost three yards. And now the ball lay directly 
in front of the goal posts. Rib hardly hesitated. 
Venus Burns stood back on the twenty-yard line 
for a drop kick. Fat made a perfect pass from 
center. For a fraction of a second, which, to Ted 
and Hal, seemed an eternity, Venus held the pig¬ 
skin. Then, with barely an effort, he kicked, and 
the ball went sailing between the supports. Three 
to nothing! Hats went flying through the air on 
the Andover side. The cheer-leaders waved 
frantically their wands, while the ribbons gleamed 
in the sun. One even stood on his head and 
kicked his heels in a spasm of joy. Meanwhile 
on the Exeter side the boys were also shouting, 
bidding their players take heart. Fight, fight, 
fight, fight! came in ringing chant from the 
stands, as the Exeter team took their positions 
for the kickoff. 

Not yet, by any means, was the game won. 
Many an And over-Exeter contest has been set¬ 
tled in the last few minutes of play. As the ball 


THE GREAT GAME 


73 


descends, Lou Hammond takes it and makes a 
glorious run of twenty yards; but when he is 
tackled, he fumbles, and it rolls into the hands 
of an Exeter player. It is Andover’s first hard 
luck in the game. And now it is the Exeter team- 
that puts all its power into action. Irresistibly, 
by small but sure gains, the Exeter backs force 
their way on to the forty-yard line, and then to 
the thirty-yard mark. Here time is called for the 
third quarter, and once more the two teams get a 
needed rest. 

The final quarter opens. Thirty yards to go 
for Exeter! The captain shoots through center 
for four yards. A double pass gives six more, and 
it is first down. A forward pass fails. Another 
succeeds and brings twelve yards. Only eight 
yards to go! Hold ’em! Hold ’em! ” cry the 
Andover stands. Charlie Bingham bucks through 
Bevo, but is thrown for a loss. A plunge at center 
also fails. Third down, the goal line to go! The 
Exeter team have a conference. The ball is at 
the side of the field, where a goal would be diffi¬ 
cult to make. Furthermore a successful kick 
would only tie the score. The Exeter captain de¬ 
cides to go on for the touchdown. A tricky end 
play deceives Tug Wilson, but he drags down the 


74 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


Exeter captain just three yards from the goal line. 
Now for the last trial! Red Larsen rushes from 
man to man, slapping them on the back and call¬ 
ing out words of encouragement. Deep silence 
falls in the stands. It is growing dark on the 
field, but the Exeter backs can be seen bunching 
together for a new play. When the signals are 
given, the whole line seems to heave as if from 
an earthquake. Twenty-two figures are piled in 
a heap close to the goal line, and the referee can 
hardly disentangle them. When he does, there 
lies the ball just two feet from the last white line. 
It is Andover’s ball on downs. Again the blue 
flags wave and the songs ring out. Never on 
Andover playing fields has there been such a 
game for thrills. 

Actually the contest, as impartial spectators 
realize, is over. Nothing but a miracle can save 
Exeter now. Andover tries three plays and then 
punts. Exeter utilizes forward passes, aiming 
them in every direction, but most of them are in¬ 
tercepted, and those which do go through net 
only small gains. Suddenly Ted clutches Hal’s 
arm, excitedly saying, Look, there’s Steve warm¬ 
ing up! I believe that he is really going to get 
his letter. Yeay, Steve! ” 



Never has there been such a game for thrills— Page 74 







THE GREAT GAME 75 
Do you suppose he’ll get in? I certainly hope 

so.” 

“ The Coach is telling him something. There 
he goes.” Steve was running on the field, and was 
reporting to the referee. In came Venus Burns, 
who had played so brilliantly, and Steve was tak¬ 
ing his place. Pop Cory calls for a cheer for 
Fisher, in which Ted and Hal almost burst their 
throats. Two more forward passes fail, the last 
one being blocked by Steve himself. Then, as 
they line up for another attempt, the whistle 
blows and the game is over. Final score, three to 
nothing, in Andover’s favor! 

The more enthusiastic Andover rooters pour out 
on the field, seize Red Larsen and Bevo, and 
carry them to the Gymnasium on their shoulders. 
Meanwhile the others have been forming lines for 
the snake dance. The band, still unwearied, takes 
its place in the van; then follows the big blue 
banner, the emblem of hard-earned victory; and 
after that, row upon row of madmen, dancing up 
and down and throwing their arms about in wild 
contortions. 

Ted and Hal found themselves, as befitted 
preps,” somewhere in the rear of the procession, 
but this did not prevent them from producing 


76 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

their proper share of noise. Even the sedate Hal 
kept yelling “ Yea! Yea! ” all the while leaping 
intermittently into the air; while Ted's feet went 
through a species of intricate war dance. To a 
spectator from a foreign land the sight must have 
seemed like a revival of the Indian revels recorded 
by early travellers in America. 

The remainder of that day was devoted, by 
common consent, to jubilation. While the Exeter 
men retreated quietly and unnoticed down to their 
train, the bells in the Memorial Tower rang out 
exultantly. Dr. Schleiermacher, the Musical Di¬ 
rector, whose passion was Beethoven, actually 
played Andover Royal Blue" successfully on 
the chimes. Energetic hands meanwhile were 
busy collecting wood for the bonfire. Everybody 
in the town, including each one of scores of small 
boys, was happy. 

Shortly after dinner, when darkness had fallen 
on Andover Hill, the boys began to appear near 
the Tower, looking like ghosts assembling for 
some devil’s frolic. Each one wore white pa¬ 
jamas and carried a lighted kerosene torch of the 
kind once used in the political parades of forty 
years ago. Seen through the trees, they presented 
a weird spectacle. Soon the brass band reap- 


THE GREAT GAME 


77 


peared to furnish the necessary music for the oc¬ 
casion. At last the members of the eleven seated 
themselves in an old-fashioned barge, with two 
long benches along the sides, and were drawn 
by the willing hands of preps ” instead of by 
the customary four-footed beasts. This barge had 
been employed for this purpose for at least thirty 
years, and no celebration would have been com¬ 
plete without it. 

By seven-thirty the parade was formed, Hal 
and Ted being among those permitted to draw the 
car of victory in which Joe and Steve sat en¬ 
throned. To-morrow the four friends might be 
on an even basis; to-night the football heroes 
were among the kings of earth. Steve had been 
in only three plays, but he had won his A just 
as surely as Red Larsen, the captain. 

Down Main Street crept the parade, following 
the formation of the afternoon except that the 
boys danced from side to side across the highway 
with their torches bobbing up and down like fire¬ 
flies in the darkness. Turning down School 
Street, they halted at Abbot Academy, the famous 
old school for young ladies. Here they marched 
through the brick gateway and around the circular 
driveway, stopping under the windows of the main 


78 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


dormitory, where they gave vigorous cheers for 
Abbot Academy. The girls responded in genteel 
fashion by waving handkerchiefs and producing a 
feeble but still audible imitation of the lustier 
shouts of the boys. 

The celebration parade invariably follows a 
long-established route, which no one ever wishes 
to change. Leaving Abbot Academy, it continued 
on to the center of the village and then back up 
Bartlet Street, stopping at the house of old 
Mac.” Here the boys bunched together to join 
in the familiar chant, We want Mac! We want 
Mac! ” and soon that gentleman himself appeared 
on his porch. It makes very little difference what 
an orator says on an occasion like this, for he is 
certain to be applauded if his sentiments are or¬ 
thodox. A speech like Mac’s, for instance, if 
properly reported, might read thus: 

Well, fellows, it’s fine to see another Andover 
victory. (Great applause.) It looked bad for a 
few moments, but our men had the true fighting 
spirit. (Loud cheering.) We owe everything to 
our gallant Coach, Fred Davis (great enthusi¬ 
asm), and to our sturdy captain. Red Larsen 
(continuous yelling), but even more than that, to 
the spirit which drove our boys on in the face of 


THE GREAT GAME 


79 


heavy odds to bring success to our banners/^ 
(Unrestrained shouts of approval.) 

It was the kind of a talk which every boy liked, 
and the cheer for Mac ” was given with redou¬ 
bled force as he concluded. From there, the route 
led to the home of the Head, where townspeople 
and passing motorists had gathered in a great 
throng. The shouting, which had never relaxed, 
gained additional volume when the Head himself 
stepped out to greet his boys and to congratulate 
them on what the team had done. His was a 
voice which could be heard for many rods, even 
amid the tumult of purring engines and chatter¬ 
ing conversationalists, and what he said was from 
the heart. Fellows,’^ he concluded, there’s 
nothing finer than holding on like grim death 
when defeat seems unavoidable,—and that’s what 
your eleven did to-day.” Two more stops the 
paraders made: one at the house of Georgy,” 
where that popular instructor, an authority on 
Andover’s athletic exploits, told them two or three 
humorous stories of bygone years; the other at 
Percy ” Fitts’s home on the corner, where they 
had to listen too long to what that teacher claimed 
was a poem.” By this time voices were getting 
hoarser and feet wearier; but spirits brightened 


80 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

as they drew near to the towering pile of wood 
and rubbish which had been heaped up on the 
Old Campus. 

Around the pyre the procession moved in 
stately dignity. Then Pop Cory touched a match 
to the beacon, and it flared up in flickering tongues 
of red, which shone in the midst of heavy black 
smoke from barrels of tar. And now the under¬ 
graduates, like bacchic revelers, seemed to increase 
their fury. Suits of pajamas were ripped off and 
hurled on the flames, as sacrifices to the God of 
Victory. Those who did not do this voluntarily 
soon found that their night-wear was being torn 
from their backs, and dimly-discerned figures in 
all stages of undress could be observed rolling on 
the ground together or playing leap-frog. As the 
conflagration rose higher and higher, the tired 
boys still had strength enough to cluster around 
the barge to hear the speeches of the players and 
give a final cheer for each. The remarks of the 
team were, as a rule, short and unstudied. All 
Red Larsen could say was, Well, fellows, we 
licked ’em, and I’m mighty happy to-night, and 
I’m only sorry that I can’t be back to help do it 
again next year.” Poor Joe, who had never 
spoken in public in his life, managed to stammer 


THE GREAT GAME 81 

out, Gosh, I wish I could be like William J. 
Bryan just now, but I can’t. All I can say is that 
you gave us wonderful support by your cheering.” 
The Coach praised the captain; the captain 
lauded the Coach; and the others praised both of 
them. 

The last player, who happened to be Steve, was 
now up and saying, “ I haven’t any business here, 
really. I’m just a ^ prep,’ and you don’t want to 
hear me. But I will say that this is the biggest 
moment of my life.” When he had finished, the 
boys gave one last hoarse yell for the team. The 
flames, dying down, dropped lower and lower until 
little was left except a dull glow near the ground. 
Tired little groups of students limped off to report 
to their house officers and then crawl to their 
rooms. Ted and Hal waited in Bishop until Joe 
and Steve appeared, and then they all sat around 
for a few last words before they went to bed. 

My, Joe, you certainly played a great game! ” 
said Hal, with more enthusiasm in his voice than 
he had ever displayed before. 

Well, I’m glad it’s all over,” replied the hero. 

I was more scared than any man ever was on 
that field.” 

Don’t you beheve that,” put in Steve. 


82 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

‘‘When Fred Davis motioned me to go in, my 
knees knocked together like a pair of clappers, 
and I didn’t think for a second that I could move 
at all.” 

“ And you both looked to me as cool as a couple 
of ice-cream cones,” said Ted. “ That’s where you 
had us all fooled.” 

“ All I could think of,” concluded Joe, “ was 
something my father told me when I was a little 
shaver and got into a fight. He said, ‘ My boy, 
always remember that the other fellow is just as 
scared as you are, and maybe a little more.’ I 
kept saying to myself when that great heavy 
‘ Rhino ’ Jordan lined up opposite me, ‘ Well, old 
top. I’m scared, but maybe you’re worse,’ and it 
helped a lot.” 

On the next morning the four were shouting in 
the shower-bath as if nothing unusual had been 
going on. After breakfast, they sauntered, with 
easy-going Sunday leisure, over to the Old 
Campus, where blackened logs and pieces of tim¬ 
ber were still smoking. The ground was covered 
with remnants of white cloth; the grass was cut 
up by the trampling of many feet; and the whole 
scene of the previous evening’s revelry looked like 
a place of desolation. 


THE GREAT GAME 


83 


I suppose there’s nothing to do but work from 
now until Christmas,” said Joe somewhat plain¬ 
tively. 

Don’t you understand, big fellow, that schools 
were built for educational purposes? ” replied 
Hal. 

‘‘ Well, I guess there was some education in that 
game yesterday,” suggested Steve. 

The silence which ensued as they hastened to 
get to the morning church service on time was 
evidence that the others agreed with Steve. 


IV 


SCHOOL MYSTERIES 

For weeks Steve’s high school frat ” emblem 
of which he had once been so proud had lain in his 
desk drawer with a jumble of discarded pens, 
stumpy pencils, and' other accumulated rubbish 
which he did not know exactly how to dispose of. 
When he first arrived in Andover, he had pinned 
it openly on his vest, as a cherished possession. 
Soon, however, he noticed that such ornaments 
were not worn by his acquaintances on the foot¬ 
ball squad, and he put it away. He now was 
wise enough to keep discreetly silent about secret 
societies. Through various channels he picked 
up some information regarding the fraternities 
which flourished in the student body. On his 
walks about the hill he saw frequently the homes 
of these ‘‘ hush ” organizations,—^mysterious- 
looking structures, with closed windows and cur¬ 
tains carefully drawn, from which once or twice 
he had seen fellows whom he knew emerge 
stealthily, as if engaged on some illicit mission. 

84 


SCHOOL MYSTERIES 


85 


Occasionally he would meet on the campus a lu¬ 
dicrous figure, wearing perhaps a green hat or an 
old frock coat and maintaining always a slow dog¬ 
trot, never speaking to any one; and he felt in¬ 
stinctively that this youth was being initiated 
into one of the various societies. Once in a while 
some one at Steve's table made a jocular refer¬ 
ence to the matter, but nobody seemed inclined 
to pursue the subject, and it was always soon 
dropped. 

Even in the privacy of their rooms, Steve and 
Joe did not often refer to the question of socie¬ 
ties, except in moments when they became ex¬ 
tremely confidential. Nevertheless it was fre¬ 
quently in their minds. After all, the best men 
in school usually made societies, and both of them 
were aware of the fact. Deep in their hearts, each 
hoped that he might some day wear one of those 
jeweled emblems and walk about as one of the 
elect. Belonging to a society, as the two boys 
could observe, gave one a certain confidence in 
his relations with others; and then, too, it was a 
kind of acceptable recognition of achievement. 

One evening in early December, while Steve 
was poring over an exceptionally difficult problem 
in algebra, Joe came in visibly excited. 


86 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

Did you know,” he almost shouted, “ that 
Duke Evans has gone T. N. T.? ” 

What’s that? ” queried Steve, as his mind 
emerged from the mathematical haze in which it 
had been wandering. 

‘^Duke’s gone T. N. T.,” Joe repeated, ‘^and 
he’s running this week. I saw him rolling a hoop 
down the stone steps of the Gymnasium this 
afternoon.” 

Duke Evans was one of their intimate friends 
in Bishop,—a tall, attractive youth, with a pleas¬ 
ant manner about him and apparently unlimited 
funds at his disposal. He was very generous with 
his money, and had often invited both Steve and 
Joe to dinners in the Grill. Steve could not ad¬ 
mire him greatly, for Duke was a natural loafer, 
always hanging around the rooms of his friends 
and disturbing them at their work. But Duke 
was popular,—there was no denying that,—and 
he had not an enemy in the dormitory. 

“ Well, I’m stumped,” said Steve. “ He’s the 
man who told me when I first met him that he 
would never get caught by any of this secret 
stuff.” 

Sooner or later, they all go if they get a 
chance,” replied Joe. 


SCHOOL MYSTERIES 87 

Perhaps that’s true,” reflected Steve. I’m 
willing to admit that I should like to have an 
offer. But you’ve got to do something worth 
while before you’re even considered.” 

‘‘ Nonsense,” responded Joe. Look at Shifty 
Perkins! What did he ever do for anybody except 
hold down a bench in the Grill and go ‘ fussing ’ 
at Abbot Academy? Name a single thing that 
he’s done to help Andover. And yet K. T. C. 
took him in just as soon as the six weeks’ limit 
was over.” 

Yes, I know,” said Steve, “ and yet there is 
something to Shifty. He’s lazy and footless and 
all that, but he’s amusing, and fellows like to 
have him around. I must admit that I prefer him 
myself to Bunny Bergstrom, who just plays tackle 
and never speaks to anybody on the street. Shifty 
always has a smile for every one and he would 
lend you the shirt off his back.” 

Right, and that’s the one reason why he could 
have any crowd he wanted. People know that 
he’s sincere, and that’s the kind they want to sit 
around with.” 

“Well, I’m glad that Duke is really in. I’ve 
always felt that it would do him good to have a 
group of fellows expect something of him. He’s 


88 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

clever enough to make the nine in the spring if 
we can only get him down to work/^ 

'' I hope/’ said Joe, “ that he won’t stop drop¬ 
ping in here now that he’s with that T. N. T. 
gang.” 

Of course he won’t. Duke never was like that, 
and making a society isn’t going to turn him into 
a snob. I’ll bet that he’ll be here as usual on 
Sunday after all his fireworks are over.” 

In accordance with this prediction, Duke 
dropped in on Sunday morning, a trifle chastened 
in spirit, but otherwise unaltered. Not a word did 
he say about societies or initiations; he just set¬ 
tled down in the Morris chair as if nothing had 
ever happened. The others didn’t dare to con¬ 
gratulate him, and, if they had done so, he would 
certainly have been embarrassed. Under the cir¬ 
cumstances, it was best all around to leave well 
enough alone, and the friendly relations continued 
unchanged. On Saturday evening, however, when 
the society meetings were held, Duke disappeared 
right after dinner, a^jid it was after eleven before 
he finally slipped back to his room. Steve hap¬ 
pened to meet him for a minute, and Duke be¬ 
trayed no evidence of any unusual experience ex¬ 
cept a remarkably strong odor of tobacco, which 


SCHOOL MYSTERIES 


89 


seemed to surround and engulf him. Evidently 
societies legalized smoking within their sacred 
precincts, if they did nothing else. 

Steve’s connection with the football squad natu¬ 
rally threw him into contact with some of the 
biggest men in school,—with Red Larsen, for in¬ 
stance, and with Mike Aldrich, the President of 
the Senior Class. These were the ones who 
chiefly guided undergraduate opinion, and friend¬ 
ship with them was naturally highly prized. One 
day while he was walking down to the bookstore, 
Steve was joined by Mike, who was a mature and 
sophisticated person, much older than the average 
Senior. In fact .Mike had been a successful 

drummer ” before coming to Andover, and had 
been through experiences which most of the boys 
in school knew nothing about. He was a clever 
talker, and it was well known that he was a fa¬ 
vorite of the Head’s. 

Once in a confldential mood, Mike told Steve 
how he was persuaded to come to Andover. He 
had been on the road selling shoes and happened 
to be drawn one night into a poker game at the 
hotel which he made his headquarters. As he sat 
at the table, he somehow was led to observe his 
companions more closely than usual. They were 


90 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


all middle-aged and, in a sense, prosperous; but 
they had no ideals or ambitions, except to make 
money, and their faces were coarse and hard. 
Suddenly there came to Mike the thought. 
Twenty years from now, and I’ll be exactly like 
these men. Nothing can save me but an educa¬ 
tion.” He turned in his chips, paid what he had 
lost, and took the next train for New Haven, 
where he made inquiries at the Yale University 
office as to how he could get into college. He 
soon found that his education had not been 
sufficient to enable him to pass entrance examina¬ 
tions, and the authorities advised him to go to 
Andover for two years. He at once resigned his 
salesman’s position and came to Andover, where 
the Head recognized his dilemma and allowed him 
to enter the school. He found the studying fear¬ 
fully difficult at first, but he persevered, and was 
now a good scholar. His income, which had been 
over three thousand dollars a year,—all of which 
he spent,—was reduced to nothing, but he worked 
his way by doing typewriting for faculty mem¬ 
bers. No one in the school was more respected, 
and his influence among the student body was 
very great. It was this friend, a man rather than 
a boy, who accosted Steve. 


SCHOOL MYSTERIES 91 

For a minute or two Mike discussed school 
topics, such as basketball prospects and the 
Senior Promenade, scheduled for Washington's 
Birthday. Then, quite casually, as if he were 
making a commonplace remark, Mike asked, 

Steve, have you ever thought of joining a 
crowd? 

Stevens heart was beating very fast as he an¬ 
swered, with as unconcerned a tone as he could 
muster, Sure, a little/^ 

What do you think of my bunch, P. G. K.? 
IPs a good crowd, with some fellows in it you 
know, like ^ Wallie ’ Booth, the track manager, 
and Fred Brewster, the hockey captain. What 
do you say to coming in with us? 

It was a hard moment for Steve. He was fully 
aware that P. G. K. was considered a “ sporty ” 
gang, most of the members of which were not 
congenial to Steve. Some of them were undeni¬ 
ably in bad repute, and there were stories abroad 
which had caught Steve’s ear. And yet it was 
considered a good society, and he might not re¬ 
ceive another offer. It is not easy for older per¬ 
sons to sympathize with Steve’s reasoning proc¬ 
esses at that particular moment. Outwardly he 
was walking rather rapidly past the garage at the 


92 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


foot of the long hill. Inwardly he was being torn 
by a conflict of emotions,—exultation at the op¬ 
portunity which had seemingly arrived at last, 
wonder that it should have come so simply, regret 
that he should have to decline it. In the end he 
turned to Mike and said rather briefly, “ I’m 
afraid that I can’t accept just now.” 

What, does that mean that you’re turning us 
down? ” 

Yes, that’s what I’ve got to do.” 

Well, if that isn’t the limit. Maybe you think 
we’re not good enough for you? ” 

You know it isn’t that, Mike. It’s just that 
I can’t feel that I would fit in there.” 

“ Going anything else, Steve? ” 

‘‘ Not just now, anyway.” 

“ Remember you may not get another chance, 
my boy.” 

I’ll have to risk that, I guess. Much obliged, 
anyhow, for inviting me.” 

Don’t mention it,” retorted Mike ironically, 
crossing over to meet Fred Brewster, who was on 
his way to the bank. 

So this episode ended. I suppose I’ve queered 
myself for good,” mused Steve, as he walked on. 
There was in his soul not a trace of self-righteous- 


SCHOOL MYSTERIES 


93 


ness or pride. What he had done had been in¬ 
stinctive, not carefully thought out. Some im¬ 
pulse, the product possibly of earlier training at 
home, had made him reject what for the moment 
appeared like a great opportunity. Once having 
made his decision, he did not let worry about it 
trouble him very long. He said casually to Joe 
that evening, Mike Aldrich tried to get me to 
go P. G. K. to-day.’^ 

You took him up, didnh you? inquired Joe, 
in a tone which implied that nothing else was to 
be expected. 

“No, I turned it down,^^ was the laconic reply. 

“ Good Heavens, what will the man do next? 
blurted out the amazed Joe. “ What are you, a 
fool? 

“ Maybe I am,^^ answered Steve, half apolo¬ 
getically. But I just didn’t feel like going that 
way.” 

That is all that was said in connection with 
what was actually a vital moral issue, which 
would have given Canon Farrar a text for pages 
of sermonizing in his tales of English school life. 
What happened was that it was noised about 
among certain groups that Steve Fisher had re¬ 
fused P. G. K. In some quarters he was dubbed 


94 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

an ass, but generally he was respected for his in¬ 
dependence, and his prestige rose with the great 
majority of the students. By this trivial act he 
won a reputation for courage which marked him 
in his class as a fellow to be reckoned with. Al¬ 
most without comprehending it, he was taking 
his place in the ranks of those who lead rather 
than those who follow; and the gulf between these 
two types in any thoroughly American school is 
immense and well-defined. 

Now that the subject had been brought so 
sharply to his attention, he began to look around 
more carefully and to form opinions as to the 
merits of the different societies. Each one seemed 
to have some advantages. One always had a high 
rank in scholarship; another included a large pro¬ 
portion of the best athletes; a third had three or 
four influential faculty members. Three, at least, 
he saw held positions of leadership because they 
were the oldest and had, therefore, the strongest 
alumni support. These did not always have the 
best men in school, but, even when they had their 
slumps like the others, they had to be reckoned 
with. Among the newer fraternities, one or two 
stood out above the rest because of their fine 
membership. P. G. K., Mike Aldrich’s crowd. 


SCHOOL MYSTERIES 95 

was, as it happened, one of the oldest, but Steve 
came more and more to discover how wise he had 
been to remove it from the list of possibilities. 

His own preference, after he had spent a good 
many hours in deliberation, was in favor of 
K. P. N., one of the oldest societies, which, so 
far as he could discover, had ideals and stood by 
them. The fellows in that crowd were not al¬ 
ways the prominent athletes or managers, but 
they were usually respected. Unfortunately 
Steve had no intimate friends among the mem¬ 
bers, and the two who lived in Bishop were very 
quiet, hardly ever saying more to him than 

Hello ’’ or Morning.^^ 

Steve kept his own counsel and went strictly 
about his business. One afternoon just before the 
Christmas holidays, he was met after class by 
Lefty Heywood, the heavy, bull-necked shot- 
putter, who said to him rather gruffly, Hi, Steve, 
going to be in this evening? ” 

Sure, come over. Lefty.’’ 

I’ll try to if I can.” 

Heywood was one of the most interesting men 
in school. Without father or mother, he had 
made his way in Andover, waiting on table at first 
in the Dining Hall, managing a laundry agency, 


96 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


and winning big scholarships through sheer per¬ 
sistence in his studies,—for he was naturally slug¬ 
gish of mind, and German and Geometry were 
difficult for him. In track athletics he had been a 
great success, and he had played guard on the 
school eleven, where Steve had come to like his 
blunt manner and direct method of speech. He 
was a member of K. P. N., as Steve well knew, 
and there were few elective offices in school 
which he could not have had if he had desired 
them. 

When Lefty walked in that evening, Joe, with 
a tact which was intuitive, rather ostentatiously 
found an errand back in his own quarters and 
Steve was left together with the caller. “ Look 
here, Steve,’’ began Lefty, without any prelimi¬ 
naries, “ we’ve made up our minds down in 
K. P. N. that you’re a man we want. You may 
not know many of us very well, but we’ve been 
watching you for a good while, and we’re sure 
that you’re our type. Now don’t decide to-night. 
Think it over until the morning, and then make 
an answer. I’m not going to argue with you about 
it. You know where K. P. N. stands, and what it 
tries to do in the school. Nothing that I can say 
can add a bit to the reasons for coming our way.” 


SCHOOL MYSTERIES 97 

With these words, he said So long,” and went 
out. 

That night was a sleepless one for Steve. He 
tossed on his bed until the alarm clock rang with 
a shrill sound in the gray dawn, and he dressed 
with his mind filled with strange conflicting ideas. 
But all the while he had no doubt what his answer 
would be. When the moment arrived a little 
later in the morning, Steve found himself quiver¬ 
ing with a peculiar excitement, just as if he were 
going into another Exeter game; but he main¬ 
tained an outward coolness which must have de¬ 
ceived everybody. At last Lefty came up, slapped 
him on the shoulder, and said, Well, what about 
it? ” Steve could just manage to stammer, I’ll 
go K. P. N. if you really want me.” It was all 
simple enough, but he was mighty glad that his 
decision was irrevocably made. 

That evening Steve dropped into Joe’s room as 
if by accident, and said, in the course of the talk. 

By the way, old top, I told Lefty to-day that I 
would go K. P. N.” 

“ I rather thought you would,” was Joe’s reply. 

Why, what did you know about it? ” inquired 
Steve. 

‘‘ I’ve been watching you ever since Lefty was 


98 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 

in your room last night, and youVe looked like a 
man in a haze. All anybody had to do was to put 
two and two together.’^ 

‘‘You’re clever, all right,” commented Steve 
sarcastically. “ Got any more news? ” 

“ Nothing, except that I’m going T. N. T.” 

“ What’s that? ” said Steve, almost jumping out 
of his chair. “ You’re going T. N. T.? ” 

“ Sure I am. I have two friends at home who 
belong to it, and yesterday Duke Evans pledged 
me. I wanted to wait until you were certain 
yourself before I spoke up.” 

“ So now we’ll both get initiated about the 
same time. But isn’t it a shame that we can’t 
both belong to the same one? ” 

“ I don’t think so,” answered Joe reflectively. 
“ They’re both good societies, and it’ll do us good 
to have different interests for some hours in the 
week. You’re the best friend I have, and always 
will be, but that doesn’t mean that you’ve got to 
stand me all the while. You’ll find that we’ll be 
better off as it is.” 

Luckily for both Steve and Joe, they were both 
so far up in their studies that the faculty were 
fairly sure to approve their names; for every fel¬ 
low pledged by a society had to be passed upon 


SCHOOL MYSTERIES 99 

by the faculty, and there were some men in school 
whose names had been presented to that body 
without success. It was not, however, until early 
in the winter term that they had to face the ordeal 
of running,”—local slang for initiation. One 
January morning Steve received a peremptory 
command to present himself that evening at a 
certain room, and his program for the remainder 
of the week was full. He brought morning papers 
to the rooms of the members; he shined their 
shoes, called them Mister,” and tipped his hat 
to them on the street. Having been forbidden to 
speak to any one not a member of K. P. N., he 
found his intimacy with Joe somewhat embarrass¬ 
ing, for the latter, who was not to “ run ” until 
the following week, had his round face wreathed 
in smiles most of the time. Steve appeared on 
the street in unconventional costume,—one day 
in a clown’s tall pointed hat, another in a bat¬ 
tered derby, too large for his head. 

The crowning incident was a stroke of genius. 
In one side of Dunster Hall dwelt an instructor 
who had been christened Goat ” Maxwell, and 

who, after the sudden departure of Doggy” 

» 

Morris, took the latter’s unenviable place as the 
butt of student humor. “ Goat ” was stocky and 

} 

; .> 

) ) 

> ) > 




100 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

bald, and wore spectacles, from behind which he 
peered like a bat at those who spoke to him. On 
Friday evening, Steve, under specific instructions 
from his mentors, knocked violently at '' Goat’s ” 
door. When the teacher, with flushed counte¬ 
nance and angry expression, opened it inquir¬ 
ingly, Steve said in a most innocent way, “ I want 
a thousand excuses, sir, if you please.” 

What’s that? ” said the Goat,” hardly able 
to believe his ears. 

Please, sir, I need a thousand excuses to go 
to the circus in Lawrence.” 

Young man, you are intoxicated. Are you a 
member of the undergraduate body of this 
academy? ” 

Yes, sir.” 

What is the name? Tell me instantly.” 

“ My name, sir, is Willie, the Fish. Haven’t 
you heard of me before at my room in the 
aquarium? ” 

This was too much for the “ Goat,” who made 
a wild grab at the offending youngster; but the 
latter evaded his grasp, and, from all quarters of 
the hall sounded the faint cachinnations of con¬ 
cealed listeners. The '' Goat,” unwilling to toler¬ 
ate such open badgering, called later that evening 

. i 

j * o 
K! I 
I 


SCHOOL MYSTERIES 101 

on the Head and explained the circumstances of 
the enormity; and then the Head, who had been 
visited only a few minutes before by some anxious 
members of K. P. N., told the irate instructor not 
to take the affair too seriously. The Goat re¬ 
turned mollified, but convinced that he could 
never endure another year in a place like Andover. 

On Saturday Steve left his room early in the 
day and did not come back until the bells in the 
Memorial Tower were striking midnight. What 
his experiences were, it is not permitted here to 
reveal. Society initiations at Andover are not 
without their rough moments, and Steve had rea¬ 
son to respect the strong right arms of his asso¬ 
ciates; but spiritually he was jubilant because of 
what he had seen and heard. As he walked home 
meditatively, he was full of noble resolutions for 
the future. Like every young man with any stuff 
in him, Steve was an idealist at heart, and he had 
his visions of helping to make this a better world. 
Under the winter moonlight, with the memories 
of a solemn evening behind him, it seemed easy 
to be heroic. This much already the society had 
done for Steve. 

Fortunately for the relations of the four friends 
to each other, all entered crowds ’’ at about the 


102 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

same time. Hal Manning, whose fine qualities 
were not always visible on the surface, also went 
K. P. N. in February, and became thus a society 
mate of Steve’s. Joe, of course, was initiated only 
a week after Steve, who took a delight in teasing 
him. As for Ted Sherman, he had made a name 
for himself in school by “ heeling ” for the academy 
newspaper, the Phillipian, and being elected 
to the editorial board. Before the fall term closed, 
he had been approached ” by several crowds, 
and he eventually, on his return from the vaca¬ 
tion, took Q. M. C., which was a society of ex¬ 
cellent standing, composed of rather quiet fellows 
who usually carried off the inter-society cup for 
high scholarship. How the impulsive and frivo¬ 
lous Ted happened to choose such companionship 
was a mystery to Steve; but Ted seemed to be 
very happy with his friends, and the society was 
undoubtedly a help to him. 

Once in a while the topic of societies would be 
brought up among the four and discussed with 
some frankness. 

Dad wrote me,” said Steve one snowy Sunday 
afternoon, “ that in his day all the societies here 
were prohibited by the faculty, and had to meet 
secretly.” 


SCHOOL MYSTERIES 


103 


I suppose the profs felt that they were a bad 
influence in the school, don’t you? ” commented 
Ted. 

They surely couldn’t claim that now,” spoke 
up Joe. I honestly believe that they do a lot 
to keep some fellows straight.” 

They do and they don’t,” was Steve’s opinion. 

It all depends on the men in charge. P. G. K. 
is bad to-day just because it happens to have one 
or two bad ones who keep the others all stirred 
up. If they could be fired, everything would clear 
up.” 

My father thinks societies are undemocratic,” 
added Ted. He says that they create cliques 
and make a kind of aristocracy in a school.” 

Of course they do,” agreed Steve, but aren’t 
there always bound to be cliques in any group of 
six hundred people? The best way, I think, is 
to control the thing as they do here, and see that 
the societies are run in accordance with stated 
rules. Then they can’t do any harm.” 

I wonder how we should feel about them if 
we didn’t all happen to belong,” put in Hal. 

But this was a question which no one cared to 


answer. 


y 


THE WILES OF WOMEN 

Steve and Ted lived too far away to go home 
for Christmas, and just before the holidays, they 
received kindly little notes from Hal’s mother 
inviting them to spend a week with the Manning 
family in Boston. There, accordingly, they went 
as soon as their last exams ” were finished, and 
there they were drawn into what seemed to Steve 
an unending round of diversion. Neither of the 
two Western boys had ever visited Boston before, 
and they went as unashamed sightseers to all the 
historic spots, even to Bunker Hill Monument, 
which, as it turned out, even Hal himself had 
never climbed. There were, of course, many 
theatre parties and dances, and Steve actually be¬ 
came quite a fusser.” The more sophisticated 
Ted and Hal assumed the airs of men of the 
world, indifferent to female charms. 

It was Hal’s sister, Jane, who took charge of 
Steve’s education. She was a pretty black-haired, 
black-eyed girl, perhaps twenty years old, who 

104 


THE WILES OF WOMEN ’ 105 


had been a debutante not long before. Her 
charming assumption of complete innocence was 
calculated to deceive even more critical observers 
than Steve. When Steve came down to dinner on 
the evening of his arrival, Hal said indifferently, 
Jane, this is Steve Fisher. Try to be decent to 
him, will you? ’’ Isn’t this nice of you to visit 
us, Mr. Fisher,” said Jane, turning the full glow 
of her lustrous eyes upon him in such a way that 
Steve could only blush and stammer, ‘‘ Pleased 
to meet you. Miss Manning.” At the dinner ta¬ 
ble, she was placed at his side, and at once began: 

Don’t you think I ought to call you Steve, as 
long as you are Hal’s best friend? ” 

I’d be glad to have you do it. Miss Manning.” 
Why do you keep calling me Miss Manning? 
My name is Jane. All my friends call me that.” 

“ Why,—why,—I—I—I didn’t dare-” 

Of course you do. And we’re going to be 
mighty good friends, aren’t we? ” 

You just bet! ” replied the stupefied Steve, 
now turned to a deep crimson, but resolved that 
he would be forever her slave. 

“ What’s the matter, Steve? ” said Mr. Man¬ 
ning, who was a shrewd aristocratic-looking gen¬ 
tleman, with gray hair and a gray moustache, and 



106 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

a decided twinkle in his eyes. Is Jane trying 
her tricks on you? 

“ Why, Dad,'’ said Jane protestingly; and Steve 
felt as if he would like to be her cavalier, to draw 
his sword in her defense. 

Look out for her, Steve,” put in Hal, or 
she’ll be adding your scalp to her belt.” 

I think you’re both just as mean as you can 
be,” protested Jane, with a charming hint of a 
quiver in her lip. ‘‘ But we don’t care, do we, 
Steve? ” 

I should say not,” Steve replied chivalrously, 
and I’ll beat that brother of yours up if he says 
another word to you.” 

Mrs. Manning, with a mother’s protective tact, 
saved the situation by a remark about some new 
musical comedy, and Steve and Jane were left 
to talk together without further interruption. 
Later in the evening they all planned to go to a 
ball, at which Steve resolved that Jane should 
be his partner as long as he could hold her. In 
her pink gown trimmed with silver she appeared 
to him like some Grecian nymph in modern cos¬ 
tume, and he longed to do some heroic deed in 
her behalf. As he sat by her side in the taxicab 
going to the Copley-Plaza Hotel, it seemed in- 


THE WILES OF WOMEN 107 

credible to him that any one so wonderful as she 
should be by his side. 

Steve was rejoicing in the possession of a new 
Tuxedo suit, which his father had allowed him to 
purchase ready-made as soon as the invitation to 
the Mannings had come. Considering that Steve 
had never worn such attire before, he managed 
rather well; but he spent at least half an hour 
making his black bow tie look even and brushing 
his refractory hair so that it would stay down flat 
on his head. In the unaccustomed stiff shirt and 
collar, he was very uncomfortable and somewhat 
embarrassed, but the sight of Janet, and her whis¬ 
pered words, My, how nice you look! ” reas¬ 
sured him for the moment. 

As they crossed the floor to bow before the 
patronesses, Steve felt very red and clumsy, but 
he passed safely through that ordeal and started 
off with his arm loosely thrown around Jane’s 
waist, in the mazes of the fox-trot. Steve was not 
precisely a professional or expert dancer. In a 
sense he was self-taught, for balls in Montana had 
been rare events and his knowledge of the modern 
steps was chiefly the result of Hal’s instruction in 
their room at Andover. Consequently his route 
consisted of a sort of promenade of the four sides 


108 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


of the floor, with no turns or variations, and an 
occasional pressing of a heavy foot on a partner’s 
slippered toes. Now and then Steve’s guiding was 
poor and the two collided sharply with other cou¬ 
ples, Jane being usually the suffering victim. 
As they passed a line of “ stags ” at one end of 
the room, Jane cast an appealing glance at some 
of her friends, and three started at once to bring 
relief. Before he had flnished another circum¬ 
navigation of the hall, a strong hand was pressed 
on Steve’s shoulder, a deep-voiced Permit me, 
please ” sounded in his ear, and an athletic young 
man of thirty or thereabouts slipped his arm 
about Jane and was off before Steve could realize 
what had occurred. Steve, disconsolate and an¬ 
noyed, made his way, not without one or two more 
collisions, to the side of the room, where he was 
standing wrapped in gloom when Ted suddenly 
loomed up. 

Whatcha got the label on for, Steve? ” he 
inquired, in the bantering tone which Steve knew 
so well. 

Oh, shut up, you fool,” rejoined Steve vigor¬ 
ously. 

Is somebody going to give a prize for the right 
number? ” asked Ted again. 


THE WILES OF WOMEN 109 

Meanwhile Steve heard some subdued titters 
not far away, and, turning around, noticed sev¬ 
eral boys and girls apparently laughing at him. 

‘‘ What’s the matter, you idiot? ” growled Steve. 
“ What have I done? ” 

Why, look here,” responded Ted, pointing to 
a great paper label 36 ” still sewed on to the 
shoulder of Steve’s dinner coat. It had not been 
removed since the suit had come from Filene’s. 

Great Scott!” said Steve, and fled precipi¬ 
tately into the corridor, amid the only half-con¬ 
cealed laughter of those who had been looking at 
him. When he went into the dressing-room to 
investigate, he discovered that he had actually 
been dancing with three such tags conspicuously 
displayed on his coat. As he cut the threads 
viciously apart, he knew that Fate had played an 
unkind trick upon him. In complete despair he 
went to the cigar counter, bought a pack of 
Lucky Strikes,” and lighting one with the casual 
ease of the society habitue, blew clouds of smoke 
into the air as if women’s love were no more for 
him. It was here that Mr. Manning met him. 
Steve would gladly have chosen any method of 
escape if one had offered itself, but the eagle eye 
of his friend’s father fastened upon him. 


110 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

Hello, Romeo,” he almost shouted. ^^Why 
this isolation? You should be in the midst of the 
revelry.” 

'' Oh, I just got a little tired of dancing, that’s 
all,” muttered Steve, trying to appear nonchalant. 

Well, don’t keep the girls waiting too long. 
There’ll be a lot of feeling if you don’t let them 
enjoy you.” 

I’ll come pretty soon, Mr. Manning,” replied 
Steve, stealing off as unobtrusively as possible to 
the basement floor, where he hoped at last to be 
undisturbed. 

“ So here you are,” were the words which 
greeted him at the foot of the stairs from Hal and 
Ted. The girls are looking all over for you, and 
the orchestra has threatened to stop playing un¬ 
less you’ll come back. You’re spoiling little Jane’s 
evening.” 

Oh, cut it out,” groaned Steve. “ Can’t you 
leave a fellow alone? I’m just trying to get a 
little rest.” 

You can’t do it,” insisted Hal. Mother sent 
us out to find you, and back you’ve got to go.” 

There was no escape for poor Steve. Carefully 
escorted by his watchful friends, he returned to 
the ballroom just in time for refreshments; and 


THE WILES OF WOMEN 111 


Jane was so kind to him and smiled upon him so 
sympathetically that he soon recovered his spirits. 
When the saxophones struck up once more, he 
even ventured to ask her for one more dance, and 
succeeded in circling the hall twice before one of 
her other admirers “ cut in ” on him. This time 
he sat down under the maternal care of Mrs. 
Manning, to whom he confided, before the ball 
was over, most of the story of his life. By the 
time the ball was closing, Steve had recovered 
from his melancholy, and even managed to joke 
with his friends about the awkwardness of his 
dancing. 

It was Janets instinctive kindness as well as 
her inability to resist a flirtation which prompted 
her on the next day to take Steve in hand and 
teach him to dance. One or two private morning 
lessons under her instruction made her pupil a 
credit to her, for Steve was naturally graceful 
enough; before the week’s visit was over, he was 
entirely at ease in any ballroom. Fostered by 
the intimacy which developed, Steve’s passion 
grew, until he seemed moonstruck. At meals he 
would gaze rapturously at Jane until recalled to 
his surroundings by the rude jests of his friends. 
He was even discovered by Ted in the act of 


112 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


composing a series of verses “ To Jane/^ in which 
bliss rhymed most originally with kiss, and love 
with dove. He remembered that his English 
teacher had told the class of Browning’s marriage 
with a woman six years older than himself. What 
possible objection could there be to his marrying 
Jane, who was only four years his senior? With 
the ardor and optimism of youth, he laid out for 
himself a program of three years at Andover, foui 
years at college, four years in law school,—and 
then Jane! If only she would be willing to wait 
the few short years until he could be ready to 
support her in the style to which she was accus¬ 
tomed ! 

On the evening before Steve had to go back to 
Andover, his two friends mercifully went out to 
the theatre, with Mrs. Manning. Jane had seen 
the play before, and Steve begged her to let him 
stay at home with her. It was a cold, blustery 
night, and the log fire in the library was very 
comfortable as the two sat on the leather sofa in 
front of it, Steve smoking a new pipe with a huge 
silver “ A ” on the bowl and feeling very much 
like a man of the world. The atmosphere was 
charged with sentimentality, for all the lights ex¬ 
cept those in one or two lamps had been turned 


THE WILES OF WOMEN 113 


out, and Jane was not the one to let such a 
situation be lost. 

“ I^m going to be terribly lonely when I get 
back to Andover,” ventured Steve, with as near 
an approach to a sigh as he could produce with 
the pipe still in his lips. 

“ Oh, but you men have so many things to do,” 
replied Jane, in soft tones. The word men made 
Stevens heart flutter; after all, had not his great 
love transformed him in a day from a boy into a 
man? 

But—but—I shall miss you every minute,” 
declared Steve, trembling at his own daring. 

Shall you really? How nice of you! Of 
course I'm sorry to have you go. You have made 
my holiday very happy.” 

Do you think you could come to Andover in 
February and go to our Prom with me? ” asked 
Steve, staking his all on one venture. 

“ Oh, I couldn't possibly,” she replied, smiling 
at him with a woman's cruelty, because the New 
Haven man, Ed Hopkins, to whom I am engaged, 
is coming on to Boston for Washington's Birth¬ 
day.” 

Engaged! Jane engaged! Steve's face became 
white. 


114 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

“ Are you engaged? ” he managed to stammer. 

Of course. Didn’t Hal tell you that Ed had 
gone to Bermuda for Christmas and couldn’t get 
here? I thought of course that you knew all 
about it. Ed’s one of the biggest men at Yale,— 
on the baseball team, and Skull and Bones, and all 
that.” 

Nobody ever said a word to me,” answered 
Steve, his countenance suddenly grown pathetic 
in its despair. 

“ You must meet him sometime,” continued 
the voice of the siren. 

I guess I’d rather not,” muttered Steve, with 
tragic gloominess. 

Why not, you dear boy? ” asked Jane, put¬ 
ting her soft hand on his. 

Boy? He who had just been called a man by 
those same lips! Boy? He who was enduring 
the pangs of unrequited affection! He threw off 
her hand almost roughly, rose, and walked with 
determination to the door. 

You women have no hearts,” he burst out, 
and rushed from the room, slamming the door 
behind him with a crash that shook the house. 

That night was a memorable one for Steve. 
Tossing on his bed, sleepless from too much smok- 


THE WILES OF WOMEN 115 

ing,—although he himself would have called it 
love,—^he swore a solemn oath to forget the fickle 
maiden who had failed to respond to his affection. 
Never again would he yield to his emotions. 
Henceforward he would be hard,—hard as nails,— 
and the gentler sex should be his victims. Even 
the sweetest face, he decided, could hide deception. 
As for Jane, he would forgive her. It would be 
better so. And then he saw in his imagination 
a time fifteen years distant, when he, rich and 
famous, would meet at a reception Mrs. Edward 
J. Hopkins,—the Jane whom he had once known, 
—but then poor and shabbily clothed. And he 
would smile on her benignly and listen while she 
said, “ Oh, Stephen, how much better it would 
have been if I had only returned your love on that 
night when we sat before the fire in mother’s 
house.” And he, the prosperous banker, would 
say gently, Well, Jane, if I can ever help you, 
call on me,” and would put a thousand-dollar bill 
in her outstretched hand.—Just then the dream 
ended with a sudden shock, and he woke to find 
himself on the fioor, with bedclothes lying all 
about him, and Ted and Hal rolling in convulsions 
of laughter. 

It was, in fact, somewhat difficult for Steve to 


116 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

maintain the' appearance of complete despair 
which he desired to show. He tried to look as 
if all the joy had gone from his life, but Mr. 
Manning was so amusing that he could not help 
smiling occasionally. He had resolved to show 
Jane that he was a disillusioned man, who had 
tried the pleasures of this world and found them 
ashes; but she looked up at him so prettily that 
he could not long remain dejected. Long before 
the taxicab had come to take him and Ted to 
the station, he was joking with the others, much 
to his inward disgust. He really wished to be 
considered a Byronic hero, and he succeeded only 
in being a schoolboy, leaving after a happy holi¬ 
day. 

When he did return to Bishop Hall, however, 
the mood which he had so ardently desired actu¬ 
ally descended upon him. He devoted himself to 
his studies, and led the life of a recluse. It was 
during this period of real melancholy, which was 
partly the reaction after his gay week, that he 
found his friends making out cards for the winter 
Promenade,—the most picturesque festivity of the 
long winter term. One night Hal and Joe reached 
his room together. 

‘^Look here, you old hermit, when are you 


THE WILES OF WOMEN 117 


going to shake the grouch? ” began Hal. Buck 
up and take a girl to the Prom. You look as if 
you were going to have the mumps.’^ 

Leave a fellow alone, won’t you? ” growled 
Steve, not at all amiably. Can’t you see I’m 
studying? ” 

“ Come out of the trance, Steve,” put in Joe 
jauntily. Let me get you my sister over at 
Haddon Hall, and you can give the poor thing a 
good time.” 

At that moment an idea came to Steve. He 
would take a girl to the Prom and break her 
heart, as his had been broken by Janet. It would 
be a beautiful way to get his revenge on the 
whole sex. 

I’ll do it,” he said suddenly, in a tone of reso¬ 
lute decision. 

When, on the fateful day of the dance, he met 
Marge Watson for the first time, he saw at once 
that she would be no disagreeable companion. 
Blue-eyed, flaxen-haired, and slender, she had a 
face which was almost angelic. It was only a 
moment before Steve was hers, heart and soul. 
With masculine fickleness, he immediately forgot 
the black-eyed Janet. His ideal was now a blonde. 
What a babe he had been when he had fancied 


118 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

himself in love with Janet! It had been mere 
puppy-love.’’ No wonder his friends had 
laughed. 

As for Marge, she had heard all about Steve, 
and was prepared to test her charms on him. 
Her languishing eyes looked seductively up at 
him from behind silken lashes, until his heart 
went thump, thump, thump,” under his ribs. 
There could be no doubt about it,—this was 
Love! 

Steve sat through his afternoon class in a 
daze. When his English “ prof ” recited the 
famous soliloquy of Juliet: 

‘‘0 gentle Romeo, 

If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully, ^ ^ 

Steve listened with an expression almost im- 
becilic, from which the cynical remarks of the 
teacher could hardly rouse him. With an audac¬ 
ity of which he would once have been incapable, 
he had put his own name down for nearly half 
the dances on Marge’s card, including one block 
of six in a row, which he intended to utilize ju¬ 
diciously,—as judiciously as the school rules 
would allow. Steve was manifestly being edu¬ 
cated in the Dame School of Experience. 


THE WILES OF WOMEN 119 

The delegation of young ladies from Haddon 
Hall went to the Prom in a body, under the 
charge of Miss Thompson, a most attractive 
teacher, who seemed hardly older than the girls 
under her charge. She took her place, however, 
among the patronesses in the corner, and Marge 
was allowed to walk off with Steve. 

How lovely all these college banners and pen¬ 
nants are,'’ she commented, as they sat down as 
far from the chaperone as possible. 

Not half as lovely as you are in that dress,” 
ventured Steve, with a temerity which astonished 
even himself. 

Why, Steve, is that your regular Prom ^ line ’? 
Aren’t you a dear! Tell me more soft nothings 
while I listen.” 

But Steve had gone his limit for the present. 
Even Marge’s encouraging words did not over¬ 
come his shyness, and he could not resist a sus¬ 
picion, moreover, that he was being jollied.” 
Fortunately for him, the orchestra struck up at 
just that moment, and the two were out on the 
floor in the Grand March which traditionally 
opens Andover Proms. Soon the music changed 
into a fox-trot, and Marge and he were off in time 


120 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

to a merry tune. Heaven had come for Steve! 
He felt as if he were treading on air. 

Ouch! cried Marge. '' Don’t step on my 
new slippers.” 

Oh, I’m so sorry,” responded Steve. I was 
thinking of something else.” 

“ Well,” answered she, a trifle coldly, please 
think of me just a little, at least while you’re com¬ 
pelled to dance with me.” 

All I do is think of you, whether I’m dancing 
or not,” returned Steve. 

Oh, how nice! Do keep it up. Joe has told 
me how rough you are with unprotected girls, 
telling them things you don’t mean and breaking 
their hearts. I’m really afraid of you.” 

Steve stammered some reply; but how he did 
wish he could get at Joe just for a moment. Was 
this blue-eyed girl making fun of him? It cer¬ 
tainly looked that way. And all the time her face 
was as innocent as a nun’s. 

At the end of the first dance, Steve had to re¬ 
sign Marge to Hal, who had come stag ” and 
who danced like a Greek god,—or at least as a 
Greek god might have danced if there had been 
“ jazz ” music on Mount Olympus. Steve had a 
twinge of jealousy as he watched her glide off in 


THE WILES OF WOMEN 121 


his friend’s arms, and almost cut the next dance, 
only recovering his spirits just in time to save his 
reputation with his next partner. 

The series of dances which Steve had so saga¬ 
ciously arranged for himself began with Number 
8 on the program. It was a mild February night, 
and Steve had bribed Bill ” Jones, whose family 
had a car outside, to let him use the Packard 
limousine for a predetermined period. Once he 
could get Marge alone in the car, Steve was sure 
that he could muster the courage to tell his 
love. 

All his plans had been made, and, when the 
seventh dance was over, he started out to search 
for Marge. Nowhere was she to be found. He 
looked among the Haddon girls; he cautiously in¬ 
vestigated in the vicinity of Miss Thompson; he 
strolled out in the corridors; but she had appar¬ 
ently vanished without a trace. When the music 
struck up, he was sure that he would see her on 
the floor, and he took a strategic position among 
the stags, ready to swoop down upon her as she 
went by. But she was not among the dancers. 
Steve felt desperate. Here and there he went, 
inquiring for Marge, but no one had seen her. 
The dance ended, and another began, but still 


122 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


she did not appear. Perhaps she was ill! Once 
again he made the rounds of the Gymnasium, 
glancing into every corner. Finally he walked 
outside into the snow, and stood gloomily under 
a tree. There, not far off, was the Jones limou¬ 
sine, which had been destined to be the scene of 
his declaration. 

In a sad mood he strolled under the branching 
elms, whose limbs creaked dismally, over to the 
car, opened the door, and—there was a shriek, a 
girFs voice, a man’s protestation. Then Hal 
stepped out and saw Steve. 

Why, Steve, what are you doing here? ” 

“ Just looking for Marge Watson, that’s all. 
Have you seen her? ” 

Why here I am, Steve,” said a voice from 
within, and Marge herself appeared in the door, 
looking very innocent indeed. Is it time for our 
dance?” 

I should say it was. You’ve been gone for 
hours.” 

Hal and I just stepped over here for a mo¬ 
ment so that he could smoke a cigarette. I guess 
we stayed longer than we thought.” 

I rather guess you did,” replied Steve, bestow¬ 
ing a side glance of withering scorn on Hal, who 


THE WILES OF WOMEN 123 

stood all the time with a Satanic grin upon his 
aristocratic countenance. 

I suppose we'd better go back to the floor now 
and flnish this dance/' suggested Marge. 

‘‘ Not on my account, Miss Watson," answered 
Steve with exaggerated courtesy. “ Please stay 
here and let Hal smoke a whole pack of Lucky 
Strikes. It won't ruin my good time." 

“ Oh, Steve," said Marge, with pathos in her 
voice, ‘‘ don't throw a grouch. I didn't mean any¬ 
thing." 

No, I suppose you didn't, but you're in Hal's 
charge for the rest of this evening." So Steve 
walked off, fllled with righteous indignation, and 
quite unconsciously gaining more in Marge's es¬ 
timation than he could have done by a continuous 
flow of flattery. 

In the end he had his reward. Later in the 
evening, when the spirits of the dancers had 
dropped just a trifle, Hal came up, looking some¬ 
what shamefaced, and said, Look here, aren't 
you going to take Marge for any of your dances 
with her? She wants you to come and make up 
with her." 

“ Not on your life, you wife-stealer," chuckled 


124 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

Steve. You carried her away from me, and now 
she’s yours, to have and to hold.” 

“ But I don’t want her,” complained Hal. 

She’s too mushy for me. Besides, didn’t you 
invite her? ” 

“Yes, I did, but you captured her from me. 
When the time comes to go home. I’ll do my part; 
until then, she’s completely and totally yours.” 

And she was. Hal, who had been fascinated by 
the sport of the chase, found that the pleasure 
had lessened when he had the clinging Marge for 
his own, dance after dance. From shadowy cor¬ 
ners of the hall Steve glowered upon them, im¬ 
agining himself Don Juan or Mephistopheles. 
When the hour arrived for the Haddon girls to 
seek out Miss Thompson and depart, Steve ap¬ 
peared from somewhere, took his place coolly be¬ 
side Marge, and said his “ Good-bye ” as if nothing 
had happened. She looked at him with tears in 
her eyes, but he was obdurate. When he got back 
to his room, he summed up the results of his ex¬ 
perience with Ted, “ Stung twice, by George, and 
each time by the sister of one of my friends. 
From this night on, I’m a woman-hater. Don’t 
let anybody try to get me to go to any more 
dances. I’m through. Me for the studious life. 


THE WILES OF WOMEN 125 


Say, Ted, you haven’t a sister concealed anywhere, 
have you? ” 

“ No, I’m afraid not. The best I can do for you 
is a beautiful first cousin in Wellesley.” 

“ Well, I don’t want to see her if she’s as lovely 
as Cleopatra.” 

For some days Steve and Hal were not on in¬ 
timate terms. When they happened to meet in 
the same room, Steve ostentatiously said, So 
long,” and went elsewhere. But it could not con¬ 
tinue that way. One afternoon before recitations 
Hal dropped in on Steve and said, “ Look here, 
old man, let’s drop this feud. I was just having 
a bit of fun. I haven’t any interest in Marge, 
and I shall never interfere between you again.” 

I’ve no interest in her, either,” confessed 
Steve. 

“Well, why not forget it? No silly girl ought 
to break up our friendship.” 

“ All right, I’m with you,” said Steve, and the 
two solemnly shook hands. 

A week or two later, Steve received in his mail 
an envelope of light blue, addressed to him in a 
straggly feminine hand and perfumed with some 
very strong scent. He opened it and read: 


126 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


Dear Steve: 

“ Won’t you give me a chance to apolagise 
for my dispicable conduct at the Promenarde? 
Please come over to call as soon as you can, and 
I’ll explane all about it. 

As ever yours, 

‘‘ Marge.” 

Over this communication Steve pondered long, 
uncertain exactly how to answer. Although he 
was not a Noah Webster, he was at least suffi¬ 
ciently acquainted with the elementary rules of 
spelling to be a trifle disturbed over Marge’s lib¬ 
erties with her native tongue. At last, after as 
much trouble as it would have cost him to pre¬ 
pare a theme, he evolved the following: 

“ My dear Miss Watson: 

“ In view of your feeling towards me as 
manifested the other evening, I feel that no re¬ 
lationship between us can be continued. I beg 
leave, therefore, to excuse myself from calling 
again, and sign myself, 

Respectively yours, 
Stephen Harrison Fisher.” 

With this letter and its extraordinary signature, 
the episode terminated for the time being. But 
it is worth chronicling that Marge harassed her 
brother Joe with the request that he invite Steve 
home for a visit very soon.” 


VI 


DEEP IN WINTER 

The boys returned after New Year’s to find 
Andover Hill shrouded in snow and deep drifts 
hiding familiar landmarks. The playing fields 
where Steve and Joe had spent so many happy 
hours in the autumn were now a broad level ex¬ 
panse of white, marked here and there by the 
tracks of adventurous snowshoers. Here and 
there across the campus ran zigzag paths from 
hall to hall, where the snow-plow had broken an 
irregular way and obedient feet had followed. On 
the night when Steve arrived, the trees every¬ 
where were covered with a coating of ice, on which 
the electric lights shone as if in a fairy land. 
Lilac bushes and hydrangeas were bent over by 
the weight, and the branches of pines and hem¬ 
locks actually swept the ground. As Steve walked 
along towards the Inn, he noticed that Rabbit’s 
Pond was frozen over, and he could see small 
figures skating about on its surface. Everywhere 

the New England winter had descended with its 

127 


128 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

magic power of transformation, changing the 
landscape so that it was hardly recognizable. 

For the average Andover boy, the fall term is 
consecrated to football. In the winter, however, 
the activities become much more varied. There 
are still outdoor sports, like hockey, which is 
played on the school rink, and which always in¬ 
terests a considerable group. A few, in favorable 
weather, attempt skiing on the hills surrounding 
Pomp’s Pond, but it has never become genuinely 
popular. When the road is sufficiently worn 
down, the societies bring out their long bob-sleds, 
—some of them holding as many as thirty people, 
—and coast down Phillips Street, singing as they 
go. Indoors the Gymnasium is usually filled, and 
both basketball and swimming take the time of 
those who are out for the teams. Wrestling, 
boxing, and fencing offer opportunities for those 
whose gifts lie in those directions. But no one 
of these activities really dominates the others. 
Those who participate in each one get excited, 
just as some students are stirred up over the Glee 
Club or the Dramatics; but the school does not 
rise as a unit, as it does when an Exeter football 
game is imminent. Furthermore the winter term 
is a time for study, when teachers push ahead 


DEEP IN WINTER 


129 


with speed and expect to get real work done. 
Steve found himself in the midst of a very busy 
life, where there was plenty to do every hour of 
the day. 

It is in January and February, moreover, that 
boys sit up late before a wood fire, talking over 
the great problems of life and the universe. Any 
intelligent young man of seventeen or eighteen 
has his philosophy, primitive though it may be, 
and his religion, which is not always conventional 
or orthodox. Both he carefully conceals from his 
parents and his teachers. Fledgling atheists 
dwell in every school dormitory,—audacious rad¬ 
icals, who have skimmed a little in Haeckel or 
Leslie Stephen, and who dare to say ‘‘ I do not 
know,^^ when asked if they believe in God,— 
cynical agnostics, who criticise the Sunday sermons 
and the morning prayers, and look with scorn on 
church members. Ted Sherman, quick of mind 
and sharp of tongue, had read Keable’s Perad- 
venture at an impressionable time, and, being con¬ 
vinced that he was now a skeptic, lost no chance 
of expounding his views. Church was a useless 
formality; prayer was vain babbling; religion it¬ 
self was a delusion,—these were Ted’s views, ex¬ 
pressed in a loud voice when the subject was 


130 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

brought up. Against him, in defense of ortho¬ 
doxy, Steve and Joe would argue for long hours, 
but without pronounced success. Both of them 
had joined the Society of Inquiry, an undergrad¬ 
uate religious organization, and both took some 
part in its proceedings. As a matter of fact, Ted, 
no less than they, was at heart an advocate of 
law and order; he was merely passing through a 
kind of green-sickness, for which he would eventu¬ 
ally be little the worse. 

A favorite topic among the four friends was 
the matter of compulsory chapel. It’s a shame 
to make us fellows go to morning chapel when 
we don’t want to,” Ted would say, just to start 
a discussion. 

Don’t you realize, young fellow, that six hun¬ 
dred boys in a place like this ought to be brought 
up in a Christian community? ” Steve replied. 

“ Well, forcing them to go to prayers simply 
makes them wish to stay away,” continued Ted. 

A lot you’d go if they didn’t compel you to 
do it! ” commented Joe. 

Besides,” added Steve, how could you get 
the fellows together for announcements and class 
meetings if you didn’t herd them up at least once 
a day? ’’’ 


DEEP IN WINTER 


131 


‘‘ I don^t see why any one should want to get 
them together, especially at this time of year, 
when there are so many coughs around. The 
place is a regular breeding-place of disease. 
We’d all be better off if they simply started in 
with the recitations.” 

“How ridiculous!” interposed Hal, who had 
not yet spoken. “ That’s what makes school 
spirit,—those prayers by the Head, those talks on 
all sorts of topics, those hymns which we all sing 
together. It wouldn’t be the same school if we 
didn’t all meet for those fifteen minutes in the 
morning. As for germs, the fellows would get 
colds in their classrooms if they didn’t in chapel.” 

“ Well,” concluded Ted, “ if I had my way, all 
this prayer stuff and hymn singing wouldn’t last 
long.” 

“ I guess that some day you’ll grow up, Ted,” 
said the conservative Steve, “ and then things will 
look different.” 

Six hundred boys back from vacations in every 
section of the United States inevitably bring back 
with them diseases of various kinds, and for two 
or three weeks the Infirmary is full of suspicious 
cases, a few moderately serious, but most of them 
unimportant. As the winter drags along and the 


132 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

strain of study becomes more intense, lazy young¬ 
sters are likely to develop pinkeye symptoms, 
brought on by a skilful insertion of a small bit of 
tobacco under the eyelid, and '‘shysters'’ af¬ 
flicted by a tired feeling retire to the Infirmary 
for a day's rest before being found out. The 
School Physician is kept busy distinguishing real 
invalids from those who are merely shamming. 

Ted more than once had tried to escape exami¬ 
nations by feigning illness, and had been discov¬ 
ered by " Doc " Rogers, who had each time per¬ 
emptorily ordered him back to his dormitory. 
Hence, when he appeared in the rear of the chapel 
one February morning just before the mid-term 
rating the physician turned a cold eye on him. 

" But, Dr. Rogers, I've got an awful headache, 
and my throat's sore." 

" Young man, you’ve been caught faking twice, 
and I’m not going to be taken in again." 

" Oh, Doctor, I'm really sick and I can’t walk 
around. Please let me go to the Infirmary, or 
I'll get worse.” 

" All right. I'll fix you up; but if you’re fooling 
me this time, you’ll catch it." 

So down Ted trudged to the Infirmary, where 
the Matron greeted him with distrust, but told 


DEEP IN WINTER 


133 


him to go up to the ward in which those suffering 
from minor bruises and colds were gathered. 
Once safely tucked in bed, Ted began to meditate 
plans for amusement. A game of bridge which he 
promptly started with his neighbors was broken 
up by the nurse in charge; a pillow fight ended 
in a reprimand from the Matron; and, his re¬ 
sources almost exhausted, he settled down with 
a battered copy of the Saturday Evening Post. 
Just then his eye lighted on his friend, Crab 
Wallace, who had just waked from sleep in a cor¬ 
ner cot. 

“ Hi, Crab, come on over,’^ he cried. 

Crab, nothing loth, emerged from under his 
sheet, clad in bright yellow pajamas, and came 
over to Ted^s bedside. He was a mischievous imp, 
short and stocky, with twinkling eyes set in a 
chubby and freckled face. 

Why, hello, Ted, what have you got? 

Nothing, just tired. Say, look here. Can^t 
we start something? It^s as dull as a Math, reci¬ 
tation.’’ 

I dunno. I’m game for anything. What’s 
on your mind? ” 

Then Ted unfolded to him his big idea. The 
two talked for a while in whispers, after which 


134 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

Ted, in slippers and bath-robe, stole softly out. 
In a few minutes he returned, and the boys began 
wandering about here and there through the room, 
scattering unseen some material on beds and 
chairs. The ward was used only for cases in the 
last stages of convalescence or for those, like Ted, 
who seemed to have no particular ailment. In a 
moment one patient sneezed, and then another. 
Soon an epidemic seemed to seize the inmates, 
and the ward was full of gasping, sneezing boys, 
some almost doubled up with alarm. The Matron 
appeared, only to Ker-chew,’’ and beat a hasty 
retreat. Meanwhile some one of the victims 
discovered the red pepper which Ted had scat¬ 
tered, and, after a little investigation, appre¬ 
hended the culprit. With a simultaneous roar the 
room flung itself upon him. He was smothered 
under pillows, mattresses, blankets, and clothes; 
he was beaten with towels and shoes; and, in the 
midst of the turmoil, in came Dr. Rogers, glower¬ 
ing like a God of Wrath. Some one of the boys 
saw him and subsided; another looked up and 
slunk away to his bed; last of all the battered 
and disconsolate Ted emerged from underneath 
the pile, blinking and disgusted. Upon him, with 
unerring eye, the Doc pounced. So it's you. 


DEEP IN WINTER 


135 


you young rascal. I might have known that you 
started this rough-house.” 

Oh, Dr. Rogers, they all picked on me.” 

Yes, I know all about that. Get up out of 
there and come in this next room.” And he led 
the wondering Ted into the corridor and across 
to a private ward. 

Nurse,” he said to the pretty young lady who 
appeared at his call, here’s a sick youngster. 
Keep him in bed here, and give him two large 
tablespoonfuls of this prescription.” 

<< Very well, sir,” she answered. Shall I ad¬ 
minister the dose now? ” 

Yes, you’d better let him take it while I’m 
here.” And he waited while the nauseous mix¬ 
ture was brought, and then watched Ted put it 
down to the last drop, protesting vigorously every 
second. He was then put to bed, and the nurse 
was instructed to watch him vigilantly so that 
he could not possibly escape into the adjacent 
rooms. 

On the following morning after his Latin class, 
Steve walked to the Infirmary to see how Ted 
was getting on. With some reluctance the nurse 
finally allowed him to go to the upper room where 
Ted had been isolated. There was the patient, 


136 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

pale, restless, and clearly disturbed in his. mind, 
—quite different from the lively Ted who usually 
kept things moving in any company. 

How goes it, Teddy, my lad? ’’ asked Steve. 

Oh, oh,^’ groaned Ted, I'm awful sick." 

What's the matter? Got a fever? " 

Oh, no, no," whined Ted. I just want to 
get out of here and home before I die. Say, what 
do you suppose'll happen to me if I die? I've 
been a regular atheist, and I want a chance to do 
better." 

Bosh, you're not going to die. Forget it. 
The good are the ones who die young. You're 
too hard a nut to be cracked at your age." 

Do you really think I can get well, Steve? " 

I know it." 

Say, Steve, do you think praying would do 
any good? " 

Steve turned to the window to conceal his smile. 

I guess that's good any time," he managed to 
reply. 

''Well, I'm going to try it—and—say, Steve, 
I've been an awful fool." 

" Everybody will admit that, my boy. But just 
now you spend your time getting well." 

The nurse came in at that minute and ordered 


DEEP m WINTER 137 

Steve to go; but before he left, he had a word 
with her. 

Surely, he’ll be as well as ever this afternoon. 
He’s just a little weak and exhausted, that’s all. 
I rather think, though, that he’s had a lesson 
which he won’t forget in a hurry. I don’t believe 
that he’ll come near this Infirmary again unless 
he’s really ill.” 

The nurse was right. On that afternoon about 
three o’clock Ted, a trifle the worse for wear but 
otherwise intact, sauntered into Joe’s room, where 
Hal and Steve were reading over Macaulay’s “ Es¬ 
say on Johnson.” As Ted came in, Hal read. 
He was sick of life, but he was afraid of death.” 
Ah,” commented Steve. “ That’s Ted all 
over. ‘ Sick of life! ’ ^ Afraid of death! ’ Guess 
you’re another Sam Johnson, eh. Bo? ” 

Say, give me a rest, Steve. Can’t you see 
when a fellow’s all in? ” 

You are in, ’way in. The Infirmary’s a nice 
little winter resort, isn’t it? And say, Ted, when 
are you going to take over that Sunday-school 
class down in the Episcopal Church? ” 

I wish I were strong enough, I’d show you, 
you devil.” 

Why, why, hear the little one talk! He 


138 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

didn’t speak that way this morning,” said Steve 
to the others. 

That was all the ragging ” that Ted was given. 
It was noticeable, however, that he ceased his 
attacks on church and chapel, and that he never 
again that year aired his views on philosophy. 
After his experience, Ted was a better and a 
manlier boy. 

The routine of the winter term had by this time 
become well established for them all. Steve, for 
instance, slept in the morning until the alarm 
clock went off with a whirr at seven o’clock, when 
it was still fairly dark. Dressing with a speed de¬ 
veloped by practice, he reached the Dining Hall 
about seven-twenty-five, and finished his break¬ 
fast in time for chapel at quarter of eight. After 
chapel, he went to recitations until one, return¬ 
ing to his own room for study during the hours 

when he was not in the classroom. Then came 

1 

luncheon, and, after that, hockey practice, which 
lasted until half-past three. At four he was once 
more at recitations, which continued until six 
o’clock. After dinner, he sometimes strolled 
down-town on an errand, but more often dropped 
in at some friend’s room for a chat. At eight 
o’clock, of course, he had to be in his dormitory 


DEEP IN WINTER 


139 


room, where he usually spent the evening in 
study. There were hockey games on Wednesday 
and Saturday afternoons, and on Saturday night 
there were movies in the Gymnasium for the en¬ 
tire school. The same general program was fol¬ 
lowed by the others, except for the athletics, Joe 
usually practising with the shot in the cage, Ted 
trying his hand at fencing, and Hal taking regular 
exercise in the Gymnasium. 

Every student has to undergo at Andover a 
series of physical tests consisting of minimum re¬ 
quirements in running, jumping, rope-climbing, 
and other trials of strength. Steve and Joe natu¬ 
rally passed these with ease, and Ted had very 
little difficulty. Hal, however, was not very 
strong, and accordingly failed twice in the ex¬ 
amination. As a result he was placed for a time 
in the ranks of the so-called P. W.’s ” (Physical 
Wrecks) who were obliged to take regular ele¬ 
mentary exercises under the Gymnasium instruc¬ 
tor. Among his comrades in misfortune Hal 
found very fat and very thin boys, some with 
weak arms and some with weak legs, and a few 
with organic troubles of one kind or another. 
HaFs friends would occasionally drop in at the 
proper time to watch him as he performed, and 


140 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

he became so ashamed that he took special daily 
dozens in his own room. Finally, in late Janu¬ 
ary, he succeeded in passing the tests, and 
triumphantly announced the result to Steve. It 
was an immense relief to Hal, for he had been 
obliged to endure the cruel taunts of his friends 
ever since the “ P. W.’s ’’ had been organized. 

The winter term often becomes tedious. The 
pent-up spirits of more than six hundred boys 
cannot always be restrained and sometimes burst 
out in harmless fun,—a kind of blood-letting, 
which injures no one and is followed by a period 
of peace. Nancy Irwin,—so called because his 
initials were N. C., standing for Newell Crossman 
Irwin,—was their house-prof,^’ and one of the 
squarest of men. When the boys got acquainted 
with him, they soon learned that he always played 
the game with them in a straightforward way; 
and they, in their turn, never tried to evade a 
punishment for a misdemeanor. Andover boys 
are normally quick to respond when they are 
treated fairly. 

By the school regulation smoking was forbidden 
in any school dormitory, but there were always 
one or two boys who tried to ignore the rule. 
Those daring spirits who wanted a cigarette had 


DEEP IN WINTER 


141 


to resort to subterfuge, a favorite device being to 
lie on one’s back and puff up the fireplace, or to 
sit on the window-ledge and blow the smoke into 
the night air. Joe and Steve, being in training, 
did not smoke, but Hal, who had some ambitions 
as a Beau Brummel, owned his own pipe and al¬ 
ways carried ostentatiously a silver cigarette case. 

“ Nancy ” Irwin always went to chapel and had 
directly afterwards an eight o’clock recitation. 
Hence the dorm ” was usually unguarded for 
the first hour in the morning. Hal, who had noth¬ 
ing during this first period, learned how to make 
the most of it. He would return to his quarters, 
light his morning pipe without fear of detection, 
and, after his pleasure was over, would open all 
the windows and air the room. The risk of dis¬ 
covery was slight, because a judicious dollar or 
two placed now and then in the janitor’s palm 
took away all danger from that source. 

One Monday morning Hal came back to Bishop 
as usual, lighted his pipe, and sat cheerfully read¬ 
ing a copy of Vanity Fair,” when there was a 
knock at the door. Thinking that it was one of 
the '^gang,” he shouted, “Come in, you! ” and 
in walked Nancy, a cynical smile on his face. Hal 
) happened at that moment to have his feet on the 


142 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

table, and was just in the act of blowing enormous 
smoke rings into the already thick atmosphere. 
As he recognized Nancy, his jaw visibly dropped 
an inch or two; his face colored a beautiful beet- 
red; and he rose like a somnambulist from his 
chair, dropping his pipe as he got up. 

Ah, Manning,’’ Nancy said, in the cutting 
tone for which he was famous. I see that Old 
Home Week has begun. How charmingly com¬ 
fortable! And is this the smoking-den for all the 
gay boys of the dormitory? ” 

Uh—uh—really, sir-” 

What mixture do you use? Ah, Dill’s—very 
good—very good—and when are you going to 
make arrangements to move out your furniture? ” 
I—I—I don’t know, sir.” 

Better go over to the office now, my boy. 
You might as well get it over with.” 

But, sir, I don’t want to leave here.” 

You’ll have to, Hal. Rules were made to be 
obeyed. You were a fool to try it so openly. I 
had to come back here for a book and the whole 
hall was full of smoke. It’s too bad, but I’m put 
here to enforce law and order.” 

Hal knew this well enough, but that did not 
soften the unfortunate fact that he would now 



DEEP IN WINTER 143 

have to leave his friends and take a room in some 
private house. It was a very despondent lad who 
sat for half an hour in the Head’s office, waiting 
for a dreaded interview. Finally Hal was ad¬ 
mitted to the inner office, where the Head, look¬ 
ing up from his papers, said, ‘‘ Well, Manning, 
what have you to say for yourself? ” 

Nothing at all, sir. I’ve just been an ass. I 
know it, and I’m sorry. I’ll take my punishment 
and try not to let myself get in wrong again.” 

I’m glad you take it that way. Manning. 
When you entered here, I thought that you would 
make a brilliant record. I know all your family, 
and you come of splendid stock. Your father is 
one of the most able lawyers I ever met. But so 
far you haven’t done very much to make your 
mark. At the first rating, you had honors in 
every subject, but when the term closed, you were 
just passing your work. This term you’ve been 
spending too much time altogether in the Grill, 
and your teachers don’t seem at all satisfied. 
Don’t you think it is about time you started a 
reform? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Hal. I suppose you’re 
right, but I didn’t have any idea you knew any¬ 
thing about me.” 


144 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

There^s very little that isn’t found out in this 
school sooner or later. When a fellow starts 
down-hill, he advertises himself.” 

“ Can’t you let me have another chance, sir? ” 
That’s what you’re going to have. You’ll be 
put out in the Chandler House, a good way from 
all your old associates. There you’ll be almost 
alone and you can start fresh. You can study 
without any one’s bothering you. Why not see 
how well you can do? ” 

I’ll do it, sir. You just watch me.” 

All right. I want to write your father a dif¬ 
ferent kind of a letter when this term closes.” 

It was not a happy Hal who followed his house¬ 
hold Lares and Penates out of the dormitory that 
afternoon. But he did effect a complete change 
in his habits. Possibly because there were no 
temptations to idleness near at hand, possibly be¬ 
cause he really had a desire to distinguish himself 
as a scholar, he ended the term on the first Honor 
Roll, besides taking a second prize in the Draper 
Speaking Contest. With his pals he seemed just 
as nonchalant and indifferent as ever; but once in 
his room, he settled down to business and 
burnt a good deal of midnight electricity. The 
jolt which he had received had been a lesson, 


DEEP IN WINTER 145 

and nothing more was needed to make him a 
man. 

HaFs enforced departure did not make Bishop 
Hall a haven of saints. Nancy Irwin, who was 
very popular with his colleagues on the faculty, 
was frequently out of his dormitory in the even¬ 
ing, and the boys had learned to estimate the 
hour of his probable home-coming with some ac¬ 
curacy. Sometimes, after he had made his in¬ 
spection and had left, a rough-house would start 
for apparently no reason at all. About nine- 
thirty when most of the studying for the mor¬ 
row’s lessons had been done, somebody would 
dump a pail of water on a “ fresh prep.” A row 
would begin, the boys on the other floors would 
congregate to watch the fun, and, before five 
minutes had passed, all the spectators would be 
drawn into the row. Fifteen minutes of wrestling, 
sweating humanity! A quarter of an hour of torn 
pajamas and twisted neckties! And then the ex¬ 
citement would die down, the yelling would stop, 
and the participants would throw themselves on 
their beds exhausted. When Nancy returned, 
there would be puddles of water in low spots on 
the floor and a kind of psychic tension in the 
atmosphere; but he was too shrewd to protest 


146 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

without other evidence, and he usually contented 
himself with veiled sarcasm which some of the 
fellows were not too dense to understand,—and 
fear. 

On one evening in early March Steve came into 
Ted’s room just before ten o’clock and asked. 

Where’s Nancy to-night? ” 

Gone to Boston to the theatre; went off right 
after dinner.” 

How do you know? ” 

Heard him tell Charlie Foster he couldn’t go 
out there to play bridge. He won’t be back till 
to-morrow morning, I guess.” 

Good. Let’s go in and put Joe on the blink. 
He ducked me night before last and I’ve got to 
get even.” 

‘‘You’re on,” responded Ted, who had never 
been known to refuse an invitation of that sort. 

In a few moments the conspirators, watching in 
the corridor, saw Joe leave his room to take his 
customary pre-Morphean shower-bath. As soon 
as he had gone out, the two pa jama-clad figures 
entered. With a swiftness and dexterity almost 
inconceivable, they stacked his furniture in the 
middle of the room, removed the pictures and 
piled them on top, and covered the mass with the 


DEEP IN WINTER 


147 


rug. They then hid in the little adjacent bed¬ 
room and awaited developments. Before long 
Joe, all aglow with the brisk rubdown and caroling 
in a loud voice, The Son of God goes forth to 
War,” stepped in the door. 

Great Scott! ” he burst out, and then followed 
a string of objurgations and imprecations worthy 
of a pirate captain. Suffice it to say that his Eng¬ 
lish teacher would have been satisfied with the 
results of his efforts to make Joe’s vocabulary 
large and varied.” If language could have slain, 
the hiding culprits would have been corpses in 
thirty seconds. Then Joe, who was in no doubt 
as to the responsibility, began hunting for the 
criminals. He searched under the desk and in 
the closets; finally, passing into the bedroom, he 
saw the two dim forms and rushed at them. In 
a twinkling there was a wild scrimmage on the 
floor. Pajamas were ripped from neck to waist 
in one sweeping stroke. Before long the naked 
bodies were gleaming in the half-darkness, to the 
intense delight of the crowd who, attracted by 
the noise, had come in to see the fight. 

Sick ’em, Steve! ” shouted one faction. 

After him, Joe! ” cheered the other side. 
Every now and then some outsider helped the 


148 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


battle along by pushing a friend into the fray. 
Crash! Down went a desk-lamp, shattered into 
a hundred pieces. Bang! The foot-board of the 
bed fell off, making a sound as if the dormitory 
were falling apart. And then just as everybody 
was on tiptoe with excitement, watching Joe as 
he sat triumphantly on Steve’s stomach brandish¬ 
ing a fire-shovel, in sauntered Nancy, clad im¬ 
maculately in a dinner coat. Characteristically 
calm, he stood for a few seconds before any one 
noticed him, so intent was every one on the strug¬ 
gle. Then a small boy in the outer circle saw 
him,—with horror. The news spread rapidly. 
One by one the spectators realized the situation, 
and slunk shamefacedly to one side,—all except 
Steve and Joe, who remained quite unconscious 
of the state of things. At last Joe caught Steve 
around the neck and said, There, you long-eared 
messer-up of rooms,—^beg my pardon, or I’ll put 
you down on Nancy’s bed and let him find you 
there when he gets back to-morrow morning.” 

The dramatic irony of the situation was so ir¬ 
resistibly comical that the spectators burst into 
peals of laughter; and then,, looking up to see 
what was going on, Joe caught Nancy’s cold eye 
fastened on his. His grin weakened, his grasp 



Joe caught Nancy’s cold eye fastened on his.— Page 150. 






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DEEP IN WINTER 


149 


grew feebler, and he looked like a dog who has 
been detected in some forbidden act, such as 
chewing up his master’s slipper. Slowly he tot¬ 
tered to his feet, his pajamas hanging in shreds 
about him, his face bleeding from a cut in the 
cheek,—a most disreputable looking object. 
Steve followed his example, looking even more 
sheepish. Either would gladly have sunk through 
the floor and taken his chances of breaking a 
leg. 

You others had better go back to your rooms 
now,” said Nancy, with the ring of authority in 
his voice. Steve, Joe, and Ted can stay here a 
while with me.” 

When the group of spectators had vanished, 
Nancy sat down on the window-seat,—the only 
object in the room which had not been disturbed 
by the vandals,—and said, Well, children, is the 
diversion over? ” 

As the boys well knew, Nancy in a sarcastic 
mood was especially dangerous. 

“Yes, sir,” said Ted, whose mind was quick in 
emergencies. 

“ Oh, yes, sir,” added Steve. 

“ Of course, sir,” contributed Joe. 

“ Well, suppose you all get some chairs out of 


150 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 

this rubbish. Then go and clean up, and we’ll 
have a little fireside talk. I’ll wait here.” 

Ten minutes later the three guilty parties to 
the row came quietly in, clothed with some degree 
of neatness, but each looking as if he had been 
caught stealing sheep. 

Stains all washed off? ” asked Nancy mildly. 

“ Ye-ye-ye-yes, sir,” was the simultaneous re¬ 
sponse. 

Peace of mind all regained? ” 

Ye-ye-ye-yes, sir,” came three voices almost 
in unison. 

Very well. Now let’s get down to business. 
I suppose you and Steve started this thing, didn’t 
you, Ted? ” 

Pm afraid so, sir.” 

Any one else to put the blame on? ” 

Oh, no, sir.” 

So I surmised. But I’m not putting Joe 
among the angels just yet. He may be the inno¬ 
cent victim to-night, but it hasn’t always been 
that way, eh, Joe? ” 

Joe grinned horribly a ghastly smile of a very 
expressive kind. I guess I deserve all the pun¬ 
ishment you give them, sir,” he answered. 

“ Well, boys, I haven’t very much to say this 


DEEP IN WINTER 


151 


time. You thought I was out, and you promptly 
took advantage of my absence. IVe always 
treated you fairly, haven’t I ? I never spy on you. 
I never hide in corners to watch for misdemean¬ 
ors.” 

Yes,” admitted Steve, you certainly have 
been a decent ‘ house-prof.’ ” 

And look what you do to me in return! What 
do you think I ought to give you for punish¬ 
ment?” 

We certainly deserve all you put on us,” re¬ 
plied Steve cheerfully. ‘‘ Only don’t count Joe in 
with us. We pitched on him, and he had nothing 
else to do but fight back.” 

Yes,” said Nancy refiectively but ironically, 
he’s innocence personified. Before long he’ll be 
sprouting wings. His virtue is almost appalling, 
it’s so obvious.” 

“ Please, sir,” muttered Joe, visibly embar¬ 
rassed, I don’t want to be let off from anything 
the others get. I’m as much responsible as they 
are.” 

“ That’s true enough, I imagine,” chuckled the 
teacher, who seemed to be enjoying the situation 
immensely. He sat meditating for a brief period 
while the three boys wriggled about in their seats. 


152 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

wondering what would happen next. Finally 
Steve broke the silence. 

Look here, Nan—Mr. Irwin, we’ve been a 
regular pack of kids. I’m ashamed of myself, for 
one. You’ve treated us like men, and we’ve acted 
like babies. I don’t care how many demerits you 
pile up on us; I’m through with this kind of 
thing.” 

So’m I,” followed Joe. 

Count me in,” added Ted. 

This is reform indeed,” observed Nancy, evi¬ 
dently a bit suspicious still. But I’m willing to 
take one more chance. I’m going to let you fel¬ 
lows off without any demerits this time.” 

Say, you certainly are a square ^ prof,’ Mr. 
Irwin,” said Steve. I’m for you from now on.” 

Me, too,” continued Joe. 

And you can bet I’m with you, sir,” finished 
Ted, in the manner of Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 

So it was that the three friends took their stand 
for law and order. In a certain degree, they were 
weary of wrong-doing. Furthermore they had no¬ 
ticed that in Andover the best fellows, the leaders 
of the school, kept out of rough-houses.” The 
members of the Student Council spent their even¬ 
ings studying, trying to keep up in their scholar- 


DEEP IN WINTER 


153 


ship. Responsibility had made them outgrow the 
puppy stage. And Steve, Joe, and Ted, in spite 
of some obvious faults, were of the stuff from 
which leaders are made. 

During the few days remaining in the winter 
term, the dorm was as quiet as a hospital. 
Nancy seldom came around to inspect more than 
once in an evening, and his visits were clearly 
perfunctory. Nevertheless noises were seldom 
heard by passers-by, and the hall after eight 
o’clock had an aspect almost funereal. The ex¬ 
planation was simple. Steve, Joe, and Ted had 
formerly provided much of the energy for the 
house; now that they were quiet, the inspiration 
had gone for the others. Furthermore, the three 
friends let it be known that they were opposed 
to anything not fair to Nancy. When one young¬ 
ster with sporting ambitions openly boasted of 
having lighted a cigar while Nancy was out, Joe 
and Steve carried him to the tennis courts, rolled 
him in the snow, and made him go to Nancy that 
evening with a memorized apology. Nancy 
merely smiled and said nothing. He was fully 
master of the situation. Why shouldn’t he smile? 

It was a time of year when the faculty always 
dropped a few boys for poor scholarship or dis- 


154 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


order, and one or two of Steve’s friends fell by 
the wayside. One of them, Ike ” Saunders, had 
been getting steadily worse in his work. He had 
no gift for study, and his befuddled brain never 
functioned when quickness was needed. As a 
consequence, and for his own good, the powers 
of the school ordered his withdrawal. He sang in 
the choir on Sundays, and, as no instructions had 
yet come from his parents, he was still in Andover 
on the Sunday morning following his dismissal. 
To the mirth of the teachers, and of a good many 
boys who were in ” on the secret, Ike proceeded 
to sing as a solo the hymn, I’m nearer my home 
to-day, to-day, than I have been before.” Even 
the Head had to conceal a smile as he heard the 
words, and realized their significance for Ike. 

As the term drew to a close, lessons seemed to 
grow harder, recreation periods felt shorter, and 
examinations came fast and furiously. Once in a 
while Hal dropped in on the trio, and they could 
see that he was headed for a high record. The 
others could not hope to equal him, but they did 
develop a kind of rivalry, and even slow Joe ” 
had ambitions. When the last examination was 
over, the three hastened to their rooms to finish 
packing up. The others were going home, and 


DEEP IN WINTER 


155 


Steve, who felt that he had left his father long 
enough, would have been glad to do likewise, but 
he had in mind the slender family income. As 
they emerged from the ‘‘ dorm ’’ on their way to 
the train, a few scattered snowflakes began to 
fall,—the last storm of the winter. 

I certainly am glad that spring is coming so 
that we can get out on the field,’’ said Joe. 

You bet. I’ve worked myself like a slave for 
that History, and now I’m ready for a little out¬ 
doors,” added Steve. 

Well, I’m going to have a good time next 
term,” concluded Ted. 

As for Hal, he said nothing at that moment. 
But he was glad that he had found the right way 
for himself. 


VII 


SPRING TERM 

Spring on Andover Hill is a time of infinite 
variety. It usually opens in a slough of mud and 
slush, against which rubber boots offer the only 
effective protection. 'Then the April sun gradu¬ 
ally dries the ground and warms the air. For- 
sythias burst into yellow blossom, followed by 
white and purple lilacs, with their rich and per¬ 
meating fragrance. As May 'turns into June, the 
weeks fly by on happy wings. On hot nights the 
boys can sit at their windows and watch the 
countless lights twinkling around the campus; on 
dewy mornings they could get up early for a walk 
before breakfast, through a forest filled with the 
music of birds. Even the stolid Joe could be heard 
under the shower singing his favorite and only 
hymn, The Son of God goes forth to War,” in a 
voice more distinguished by volume than by 
sweetness. Poetry is in the atmosphere on An¬ 
dover Hill in June, and it is then that even dull 

boys learn to love the school. 

156 


SPRING TERM 


157 


All four of the boys came back satisfied and 
^^PPy* of course, had had the best report. 

He was on the First Honor Roll, and his proud 
father had promised him a new fiivver ” for the 
summer vacation. No one of his friends was as¬ 
tonished by what he had done, for every one rec¬ 
ognized his cleverness. It was more remarkable 
that Steve should have had no failures, and that 
Joe, the “ dumb-bell,^’ should have passed all his 
courses but one. The really unexpected thing was 
that Ted, who mocked at study, should have come 
very near to equalling Hal’s high standing. 

What’s the matter, Ted? ” inquired Steve, 
after the first salutations had been exchanged and 
the essential questions asked. “ Going to become 
a plugger?” 

No, I guess not. I just wanted to give a little 
exhibition. I’ve made my reputation now, and 
all the ^ profs ’ will pass me this term no matter 
what I do. I’m going to have a long, long loaf.” 

Watch out that you don’t get punctured, 
smart Aleck,” was Steve’s answer. It’s my 
hunch that it’s a wise plan here not to run too 
close to the rocks.” 

Steve had all that he wanted to do from the 
very opening of the term. In his own gang ” at 


158 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


home he had always been the pitcher on the nine, 
and it was perfectly natural that he should report 
on the squad when the first call was made. He 
found himself grouped with some eight or ten 
others, among whom was “ Bo Swift, the veteran 
twirler of two Exeter games, all of whom were 
candidates for pitcher. With the instinct of the 
athlete, Steve “ sized up his rivals, concluding 
that most of them were no better than he. Bo, 
of course, was in a class by himself. Tall, rangy, 
and powerful, he had a brain that beautifully con¬ 
trolled his body, and he never lost his courage in 
a crisis. With him in the box, the entire team 
had confidence, and they played like a unit. 
Steve soon made up his mind that he must try to 
learn from Bo. Luckily the latter took a fancy 
to him, invited him to come to his eating-joint,” 
and even gave him a little private instruction 
about drops ” and in-shoots.” Before long, 
Steve was doing things with a baseball which he 
had never thought to be within his power. Bo 
was a born baseball pitcher, who knew by instinct 
what less favored players spend years in learning. 
Under his tutelage Steve, who was in muscles and 
physique very good material, made remarkable 
improvement. 


SPRING TERM 


159 


You’re coming, kid,” said Bo one day approv¬ 
ingly, as he watched Steve strike out the captain 
of the Andover nine. All you need now is ex¬ 
perience, and you’ll get that before very long.” 

The others were also outdoors every afternoon, 
for the Andover system makes athletics compul¬ 
sory for all those who are not crippled. Joe was 
a promising candidate for the shot put and the 
hammer throw, where his weight and strength 
were bound to count. Through the winter he had 
put on flesh and now tipped the scales stripped at 
over 190 pounds. Ted was playing on the tennis 
team, where his speed enabled him to work up to 
the second position, just under Sid Thayer, the 
captain. When he was really interested, Ted 
could accomplish wonders, and he actually took 
the pains to stop smoking and settle down to 
hard training. Hal was too light for any team, 
but he went faithfully through his work in club 
baseball, and then devoted himself to “ heeling ” 
for the Phillipian, the school paper, of which Ted 
was already an editor. 

Hal’s reporting kept him hustling around, but 
he enjoyed the competition, and soon disclosed a 
knack of writing which made him a successful 
journalist. He had an originality and an aggres- 


160 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

siveness quite unusual in schoolboys, and could 
find news in the most trivial incidents. Before 
he had been “heeling” a month, he had out¬ 
distanced every rival, and this without any as¬ 
sistance from Ted. Hal was easily elected to the 
editorial board late in April. 

Hal’s ingenuity in journalism did not stop at 
trifles, and occasionally got him into trouble. In 
early May there was a period of two or three 
weeks when news seemed lacking, and “ Morry ” 
Gould, the Managing Editor, groaned in dismay 
over the dearth of material. For one especial is¬ 
sue he cribbed several short articles from current 
newspapers, only to hear himself denounced by 
undergraduate opinion as “ too lazy to do the job 
himself.” It was then that Hal had an inspira¬ 
tion. One afternoon he appeared at Morry’s 
room with several sheets of theme paper closely 
written. The two conferred together for a few 
minutes, and then made their way down to 
the Andover Press, where the Phillipian was 
printed. 

On the next day, at noon, the Phillipian was 
distributed, its first two columns headed by a wide 
black border. Interested at once in this unusual 
sight, the boys hastened to read: 


SPRING TERM 


161 


ANDOVER’S RICHEST ALUMNUS DEAD 

FAMOUS OLD TIME FOOTBALL PLAYER 
SUCCUMBS TO PNEUMONIA 

At his home in Dunkirk, New York, George W. 
Merwin, known to football enthusiasts of forty 
years ago as Kid ” Merwin, lies dead to-night. 
Mr. Merwin was a graduate of Andover Academy, 
where he spent four years, for three of which he 
was captain of the eleven. Many stories have 
been handed down of his skill and prowess. 
. . . It is probable that his vast fortune, made 

in the ice business in Buffalo, will be bequeathed 
to his old school, as he has no living relatives. 
His wealth is estimated at between four and five 
million dollars. . . . 

The undergraduates read this item, which cov¬ 
ered at least half of the front page, largely be¬ 
cause many exciting anecdotes were told of fa¬ 
mous games in which the great “ Kid ” had par¬ 
ticipated, both at Andover and later at Yale. 
There was some speculation as to how the money 
could best be expended. 

“ A stadium’s what we need. Let’s call it the 
Merwin Bowl, after the old boy himself,” sug¬ 
gested Joe. 

“ Why not a library? ” ventured Ted, to keep 
up the discussion. 

Oh, we don’t need any more books. Not even 


162 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


Charlie Foster has read all weVe got up there. 
Just let me take the money and Vll spend it for 
’em.” 

Meanwhile Hal was sitting quietly, chuckling 
to himself. They happened to be loafing in his 
room after lunch, waiting to go to the field. Sud¬ 
denly there was a bang on the door, and in 
walked “ Dad ” Warner, the oldest active member 
of the faculty,—Mac being on the retired list,— 
looking as if he had seen a ghost. 

Is this Manning’s room? ” he asked, without 
stopping to say Good-afternoon.” 

“ Yes, here I am, sir,” answered Hal. 

Look here,” said Dad, pointing his finger at 
the first page of the Phillipian, a copy of which 
he held in his hand. “ Can you tell me who wrote 
that? ” 

Hal was plainly much embarrassed. He took 
the sheet, looked at it for a second, and then re¬ 
plied,—“ I wrote it, sir. There was a big space to 
fill up—and—and—well, I didn’t think it would 
do any harm.” 

But we never had a man on our rolls named 
George W. Merwin. Where did you get all the 
information? ” 


“ Why, I—I just made it up, sir.” 


SPRING TERM 163 

‘‘ You made up all those dates and stories? ” 
Yes, sir.” 

“ Bless my soul, what a boy,” said Dad, and 
flung himself down in a chair shaking with laugh¬ 
ter. As secretary of the alumni association, he 
knew by name nearly every graduate of the school 
for the past fifty years, and the audacity of the 
young heeler ” impressed him as irresistibly lu¬ 
dicrous. 

But, look here,” he said, recovering, what 
are people going to say? The school will never 
hear the last of this. It will disgrace us forever. 
You must go out and suppress every copy that 
has been printed. Start right out now and tear 
up every one you see. And, in Heaven^s name, 
don’t let any get mailed to out-of-town sub¬ 
scribers.” 

It was too late. The mailed papers had already 
left the Post-Office, and those distributed in An¬ 
dover proved difficult to discover, for the secret 
had leaked out and every boy was hoarding his 
copy like a precious coin. Dad, of course, rushed 
over to explain to the Head what had happened, 
and that gentleman was obliged to make an ex¬ 
cuse for going out in order to conceal his smiles. 
The next morning, however, he spoke in chapel 


164 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

condemning the Phillipian article and its au¬ 
thor in no feeble terms, and Hal received a sum¬ 
mons to appear before him at ten o’clock. 

Hal was no coward, but his knees knocked to¬ 
gether as he sat waiting for his second formal in¬ 
terview with the Head. He was not cheered up 
by the remarks made to him by some of his friends 
as he walked up, such as'' Pack your trunk, Hally, 
my boy,” or Get ready to transfer to Lawrence- 
ville, old top,” or “ Don’t I wish I were in your 
shoes, Mr. Hearst.” 

This time the Head was ready for him as soon 
as the door closed behind him. ‘‘ Well, Manning, 
this time you’ve gotten us into a nice mess. Here 
are telegrams from all over the United States 
wanting to know who this George W. Merwin is. 
The Mayor of Dunkirk has wired me. So has the 
President of Yale. Look here,—‘ Please verify 
name of George W. Merwin of Dunkirk, Yale 
man reported dead. No such name on our alumni 
list.’ Four reporters are out here from Boston 
trying to trace the source of the report. As for 
Mr. Warner, he’s been almost insane. I don’t 
know what I’m going to do.” 

I’m awfully sorry, sir,” said Hal, looking very 
pathetic. “ I really didn’t know what trouble I 


SPRING TERM 165 

would cause. I just was told that we didn’t have 
any news for this Wednesday’s Phillipian; so I 
sat down and tried to scribble off something that 
would interest the boys. I’ll do anything I can 
to make up for it.” 

“ Too late, now, Manning. The mischief’s 
done. Look here, young man, I’m not altogether 
sure but that you’re too smart for this school. 
Don’t you think another climate would suit you 
better? ” 

Oh, sir, please don’t fire me. Put me under 
any form of discipline there is, but let me stay. 
I do want a chance to make good.” 

Well,” replied the Head, ‘‘ there’s just one 
thing in your favor, and that’s your high scholar¬ 
ship standing. If you were low and had done 
this, the faculty would insist that you go out. 
As it is, I think I can persuade them to let you 
remain on probation for the rest of the year. 
Now, get out. If you’re called up before me again 
this year. I’ll have no mercy on you.” 

It is probably a fortunate thing that no boys 
overheard the Head and Dad Warner talking the 
affair over that evening as they sat on the porch 
together. 

“ Plucky little fellow, that Manning,” said the 


166 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


Head, and that’s the boldest thing that’s hap¬ 
pened since I took charge here.” 

“ Yes,” added Dad, reflectively, and it never 
occurred to him that there’s a world outside of 
this Hill,—Dunkirk, New York, for instance.” 

Well,” concluded the Head, some day he’ll 
be editing the New York Tribune or the San 
Francisco Examiner, and I’ll be sending in my 
card to him,—and how I will remind him of his 
obituary of ^ Kid ’ Merwin. That’s the beauty of 
a teacher’s life; he can watch boys grow into 
men.” 

While this excitement was developing and end¬ 
ing, Steve and Joe were training regularly. Joe 
from the first was the best shot-putter in school. 
His huge bulk was aided by a quickness acquired 
in football, and he needed only a few suggestions 
to transform him into a first-class weight man. 
Early in the season he broke the school record in 
practice, and he won his event straight through 
the dual meets. It was, however, a poor year for 
Andover in track athletics, and the sprinters and 
hurdlers were worse than mediocre. The boys 
cheered lustily for the team; the mass meeting 
was not noticeably lacking in enthusiasm; but 
nobody had any confidence that a victory could 


SPRING TERM 167 

be pulled out. The actual meet revealed An¬ 
dover fighting desperately but hopelessly to the 
end. The mile runner, though he was stimulated 
by the hoarse cries from six hundred throats, could 
do no better than come in a bad third; and the 
pole-vaulters tried futilely to crawl over the mark 
of ten feet, six inches. Joe, it is true, won hand¬ 
ily, but the shot-put is not an event in which the 
competition is of a spectacular nature. When he 
set a new mark for the dual contests, the stands 
gave him a cheer, but that did not win the meet 
for Andover. The Exeter stands had their time 
for jubilation, and the joyful hearts that evening 
were in New Hampshire, not in Massachusetts. 

There was every reason, then, why the Andover 
boys should be looking forward with eagerness to 
the baseball game at Exeter on the following 
Saturday. The nine had developed slowly 
through the preliminary season, showing flashes 
of brilliancy, but also disclosing at times a ten¬ 
dency to get rattled in emergencies. Steve 
had been steadily improving, and, in the two 
games in which he had been given a chance, had 
managed at least not to disgrace himself. He 
worked faithfully day after day throwing up balls 
to batsmen, learning what he could from Bo 


168 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


Swift, and serving his apprenticeship as all as¬ 
pirants for athletic honors in Andover have to do. 
Steve was getting very popular with his associates, 
for he never tried to escape work, and he was al¬ 
ways cheerful when called upon to do anything. 

The defeat on the track left Andover craving 
revenge. Every morning the members of the nine 
were applauded in chapel; every afternoon the 
school marched to the field, to cheer and practise 
songs. The cheer-leaders, their faces in a des¬ 
perate expression, pleaded and railed and com- 

i 

manded. There was undisguised excitement in 
the air, and the younger boys had difficulty in 
keeping their minds on their studies. It was quite 
different, however, with a veteran like Bo Swift, 
who was about to pitch his third championship 
game for Andover, but was outwardly as cahn as 
if he had nothing on his mind. 

How can you settle down to study that Al¬ 
gebra? ” asked Steve on Thursday evening as the 
two sat together in Bo's room. 

Easy enough," was the reply. It's got to be 
done, or I can't graduate, and graduating is the 
most important thing for me right now. I've 
been here four years, and my father expects me 
to make Yale next fall. All I have to do is just 


SPRING TERM 169 

to forget baseball and keep my mind on the Bi¬ 
nomial Theorem.” 

But how can you help having thoughts about 
the game creep in? I’m not even going to be in 
it, and yet I’m dreaming about it every minute.” 

Well, I just have to forget all about it or I 
would get all on edge and be too nervous to pitch 
well.” And so speaking. Bo would turn to his 
desk again and start studying as if he had never 
seen a baseball. Steve admired this kind of spirit 
and deliberately attempted to imitate it, but with 
difficulty. He did not realize then that a good 
part of Bo’s calmness was the result of the con¬ 
fidence which every veteran player has in his own 
ability. 

Saturday morning was warm and bright, as it 
should be when a baseball game is to be played. 

It’s a bully day, old top,” shouted Joe, as he 
pulled Steve out of bed on to the floor. Wake up 
and get your pitching arm into shape. You may 
need it.” 

I guess not,” grunted Steve. No such luck. 
Bo looks good to me for thirty-one innings. Un¬ 
less he has a stroke of apoplexy or gets appendi¬ 
citis, I’ll hold down a soft place on the bench this 
afternoon.” 


170 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

Your time will come, young ’un,” answered 
Joe. ‘‘ Don’t be so impatient. You can’t expect 
to be the world’s greatest pitcher at only seven¬ 
teen.” 

At chapel that morning the Head made some 
brief announcements regarding the conduct of the 
students while they were in Exeter, urging them 
to remember that they were gentlemen and that 
they were expected to behave with courtesy to¬ 
wards the enemy. He also gave them some final 
instructions as to what they were to do in case 
of victory and in case of defeat. Classes were cut 
short that morning, and, when they were over, the 
boys hastily ate their lunch and then in groups of 
two or three made their way down to the Andover 
railway station, each fellow carrying the usual 
large megaphone, with a white A ” against the 
blue background. Slowly the special train pulled 
in and the boys got aboard,—all except a few more 
fortunate ones who had been invited to ride up 
in the automobiles of faculty members or of their 
own families. 

The journey to Exeter by train took just a little 
over an hour, and the boys beguiled the time with 
singing and ceaseless chatter about prospects for 
the game. 


SPRING TERM 171 

They say Bo is speedier than he was last 
year.” 

Well, if he isn’t, that Steve Fisher’s better 
than any man that Exeter’s got.” 

“ How’s Soapy’s leg this morning? He said 
yesterday that he’d have to have a runner on the 
bases.” 

Have you heard about Exeter’s young ‘ Babe 
Ruth ’ ? His name’s Kelly, and he has knocked 
a home run in every game this season.” 

Say, when are we going to get there, anyway? 
This train’s a regular snail.” 

Somehow the locomotive puffed its way through 
Haverhill and Powwow Village and at last into 
Exeter station, where the Andover boys dis¬ 
mounted, formed into the traditional column of 
squads, and, with the cheer-leaders marching like 
officers by the side, invaded the town. Not an 
Exeter follower was at the station, there being 
an agreement to this effect between the two 
schools. As the Andoverites marched on, they 
could see in the windows and on the walls of 
houses countless red flags and pennants, all bear¬ 
ing the huge “ E ” of the rival institution. It 
was the first time that Joe and Ted had been in 
the enemy’s territory, and they enjoyed the ex- 


172 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

perience. It was thrilling to be tramping along 
these streets, keeping step to the familiar A-N- 
D-O-V-E-R,” and feeling inside a passionate long¬ 
ing to sacrifice one’s all for the school. 

Soon they were entering the bounds of Plimp¬ 
ton Playing Fields, near the beautiful Exeter 
Gymnasium, and could see ahead the great crowd 
of spectators, six or seven thousand at least, who 
had come from near and far to see the game. The 
opposing nines were already on the field, and the 
Andover team was having its infield practice. As 
Joe looked across the diamond, he could see Steve 
pitching to Crab ” Wallace, the substitute 
catcher. When the Andover followers rushed the 
bleachers to get good seats, Joe was lucky enough 
to find himself near Ted and Hal, who had trailed 
in his wake. Every one was pushing and shout¬ 
ing, trying to get room to move and breathe. At 
last they were all settled, and the cheer-leaders 
took their places in front of the stands, each one 
in a white shirt and white flannels. Then as the 
comforting Andover cheer rang out, each boy in 
the stand felt a renewed confidence in the skill 
of his representatives. After all, felt Ted, An¬ 
dover couldn’t lose to-day. 


SPRING TERM 173 

The opening moment in an Andover-Exeter 
game is always thrilling, even to the most hard¬ 
ened fan.’’ Every spectator is uneasy in his 
seat; every player is nervous. And then the first 
ball is pitched, and the struggle is on. Andover 
was in the field, and Bo Swift, a figure only too 
well known to the Exeter rooters, took his place 
in the pitcher’s box, looking formidable as he 
studied the opposing batter. In the catcher’s po¬ 
sition was Dick Wright, another veteran of many 
gruelling battles. At short-stop stood Captain 
George Mason, and at second was tall Jack 
Reilly, with Soapy Wilson on third. All but Jack 
Reilly were old men at Andover and had won 
their A’s ” the previous year. Each one had 
confidence in the others, and they knew how to 
act as a unit. 

A bulky-looking umpire with a stentorian voice 
called the game and announced the batteries,— 
For Exeter, Camp and Bowman; for Andover, 
Swift and Wright.” The names of these players 
were received with loud acclaim by their support¬ 
ers. Then, with a glance around him at his team¬ 
mates, Bo slowly wound up, shot a swift, straight 
ball at the batsman, and watched it sail over the 
plate, ignored by the Exeter player. One 


174 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

strike! ’’ cried the umpire, and the occupants of 
the Andover stands gave a simultaneous yell. It 
was first blood for the Blue. Once more Bo coolly 
surveyed his antagonist, shaking his head in dis¬ 
approval of the catcher's signal, and then, when 
another signal had been given, nodding his ap¬ 
probation. The ball was a wide out-curve, which 
lured the batter into reaching for it and missing 
it. Next came a high one, which the Exeter man 
gazed at contemptuously. When the umpire mo¬ 
tioned to indicate one ball," it was Exeter's turn 
to cheer. That's waiting for 'em! " Attaboy, 
Murph! " and similar exclamations fioated across 
the diamond. Now Bo seemed to prepare a little 
more carefully. With an odd underhand swing, 
he sent the ball flying towards Murphy, who 
struck wildly at it,—in vain. ^^Out! " cried the 
umpire, with an authoritative gesture, and the 
Andover boys gave Bo a long yell. 

Exeter went out that inning without a score, the 
last man being eliminated by the capture of a 
long fly to left field. It was Andover's turn at 
bat. The first man up was A1 Look, the first 
baseman, and the best hitter on the team. More 
than once he had faced Chick Camp, the Exeter 
pitcher, and he was not afraid of him. Chick was 


SPRING TERM 


175 


very tall and very thin, and seemed to take an 
abnormally long time to throw the ball. The 
delay sometimes flustered batters who were un¬ 
familiar with his peculiarities, but it did not trou¬ 
ble Al. As the first ball came at him, A1 caught 
it perfectly, making a low drive over the second 
baseman^s head. It was a beautiful single. As 
he sped on to first, blue banners waved, the An¬ 
dover stands rose to their feet, and Joe found 
himself pounding the back of the man in front of 
him with all his might. Don’t mind me, young 
fellow,” said the victim, turning around for a sec¬ 
ond, only you’d better save some of that 
strength for later on in the game.” The next man 
up was Bill Sikes, the right fielder, a stout good- 
natured boy, with a broad grin on his face. He 
waited patiently until two balls had been called; 
then he smote lustily at his favorite out-drop, and 
the ball sailed directly over first base, luckily 
landing fair. Down the line he went, while Al 
Look ran to second and then to third, stopping 
there as the coaches warned him to take no 
chances. Things certainly looked good for An¬ 
dover. The next man up, Tom Joyce, who played 
in center field, was an excellent hitter but was a 
trifle too eager; as a result, he knocked a pop fly 


176 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

to short’Stop, and was easily put out. Then came 
Soapy Wilson, short and stocky, with a shape not 
unlike that of a barrel. As he stepped to the 
plate, the Exeter fielders moved back, for Soapy 
had won a reputation as a long hitter. One 
strike,” the umpire announced, as the first ball 
fiashed by. Two strikes,” came his voice, as 
Soapy started to hit and then altered his inten¬ 
tion. Everybody on the Andover side was anx¬ 
iously awaiting the issue, and for once the bleach¬ 
ers were still. Chick Camp, with excessive de¬ 
liberation, seemed to tie his arms in knots, but, 
when the throw was made. Soapy was ready. The 
ball, hit with terrific force, rose higher and higher, 
out over the left fielder’s head until it reached the 
canvas which enclosed the field and rolled under 
it. Two Exeter men dived after it, but, by the 
time it could be thrown back to the diamond, all 
three Andover men had crossed the home plate. 
It was a perfect home run! 

Now indeed pandemonium reigned in the 
stands. The cheer-leaders were leaping up and 
down, turning occasionally a handspring. The 
Head waved both arms in the air, and Dad War¬ 
ner broke his new straw hat over the head of a 
colleague at his side. Never before in an Exeter 


SPRING TERM 177 

game had so decisive a lead been secured in the 
first inning,—and there was only one man out! 

Usually in an Andover-Exeter contest the side 
which can first take the lead is the one to win. 
So it was in this game. Before the inning was 
over, Andover had accumulated five runs,—a long 
lead in baseball,—and not even the most frantic 
efforts on Exeter’s part could overcome such a 
handicap. The Andover team were batting like 
big leaguers,” even tiny Chauncey Peters in left 
field managing to knock out a three-base hit. In 
fact the game was so markedly one-sided that the 
interest for non-partisan spectators was not at all 
keen. During several successive innings, begin¬ 
ning with the sixth, the Exeter cheer-leaders 
called upon the school to rise and start a rally; 
but the cheering and singing were of no avail. 
Bo Swift struck out man after man, and those 
who did manage to hit the ball on the Exeter team 
usually knocked it into the hands of a waiting 
Andover fielder. In the eighth inning, through 
two ludicrous errors on the part of Soapy Wilson, 
Exeter scored two runs, thus avoiding the igno¬ 
miny of a shut-out. At the opening of the ninth 
inning, then, the score was fifteen to two in An¬ 
dover’s favor, and Exeter had just one more 


178 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


chance to do something. As the players were 
about to rush on the field, the Coach and Bo 
Swift had a whispered conference, to which Cap¬ 
tain George Mason was called in. Then the 
Coach motioned to Steve, who lost no time in 
running up. 

Are you ready to go in? ” asked the Coach. 

I should say I am,’’ answered Steve, without 
a second’s hesitation. 

Well, you take Bo’s place, and don’t let them 
get a batting streak.” 

Steve’s heart took a big jump, and his knees 

felt wobbly, but he merely said, “ I’ll certainly 

do my best.” Bo stepped over to him, slapped 

him on the back, and encouraged him, Go to it, 

young fellow; you can do it. Just shoot ’em over 

_ • 

hard. They can’t hit a balloon.” 

As Steve walked out towards the pitcher’s box, 
he could hear the cheer leaders shouting, A long 
Andover for Fisher,—are you ready? One! 
Two! Three! ” but the noise reached him as 
from afar off. Everything seemed to be blurred 
before his eyes. Then he reached his position, 
waited a moment to steady his nerves, and looked 
towards Dick Wright to get his signal. The sight 
of Dick’s familiar countenance reassured him, and 


SPRING TERM 


179 


he quickly regained his composure. He could feel 
the support of his teammates, as they talked to 
him, Get the big fellow, Steve,^^ We’re all be¬ 
hind you, kiddo,” It’s going to be easy, Steve.” 
Promptly he forgot that it was a game with Ex¬ 
eter ; he forgot that he was about to win his base¬ 
ball “ A he forgot everything except the man in 
front of him who was swinging the bat so viciously 
with his two hands. Sure and swift went the 
ball from his fingers, and the Exeter player struck 
at it, missing it by inches. Another throw! This 
time, however, the curve was too wide, and the 
umpire called ‘‘ One ball! ” Once again the curve 
shot to the left of the plate. Two balls!” 
Steve tried again, but the ball seemed to take an 
unexpected rise and passed high over the catch¬ 
er’s head. Three balls! ” 

The critical moment for Steve had arrived. 
Dick Wright, calm and cool as usual, came for¬ 
ward to talk to him. Brace up, Steve,” he said; 

all this chap needs is a swift straight one. You 
needn’t practise tricky stuff on him.” 

All right, Dick,” replied Steve. 

Both Steve and the team were well aware that 
he was facing the first real test of the day. The 
crowd awaited expectantly the next throw. Then 


180 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

it came,—strong and true in aim, right over the 
plate, and the Exeter batter let it pass with a 
kind of contemptuous smile. Two strikes and 
three balls! 

Once more Steve braced himself. He tried to 
imagine that he was pitching to Dick Wright in 
practice, with nothing to disturb him. With an 
easy motion, he put all his effort into his throw. 
The batter struck,—how he did strike!—^but the 
ball passed untouched into the catcher’s mit. 
The Andover stands burst into another tumultu¬ 
ous cheer. Here was a new pitcher worthy of 
Bo’s shoes! Even the hoarsest prep ” recov¬ 
ered sufficiently to put his whole soul into a yell. 

Psychology, as every old player knows, is a very 
important factor in baseball. Steve’s striking out 
the first man to face him in a championship game 
undoubtedly had a decisive influence on his ca¬ 
reer as a pitcher. It gave him that assurance 
which is indispensable to the successful man in 
any trade or art. Knowing that he could strike 
a man out, he speedily acquired the deliberation 
of a veteran. The second Exeter batter fouled 
twice; then Steve, by a dexterous and shrewdly 
placed inshoot, deceived him completely, and he 
was called out. The third man now stepped to 


SPRING TERM 


181 


the plate. Many spectators, sure that the game 
was virtually over, had begun to leave the field, 
and there was some confusion in the bleachers. 
Steve kept saying to himself, ‘‘ Don^t get care¬ 
less. Don’t get careless.” He pitched just as 
carefully as if the game had just begun and the 
score were nothing to nothing. One strike! ” 
cried the umpire, as the ball cut the corner of the 
plate. Two strikes! ” The player had reached 
rather helplessly for an out-drop. Then Steve 
pitched a ball which looked when it started as if 
it might go over the batter’s head, but it dropped 
rapidly, passed just below his shoulders, and the 
umpire, with a last sweeping gesture, said, “ Three 
strikes and out I ” The game was over! 

A mob of hooting, roaring wild men rushed on 
the diamond. One deputation of exultant bar¬ 
barians tore up the score-board and bore it off in 
triumph. A procession of .dancing lunatics cir¬ 
cumnavigated the bases, ending up in front of 
the Exeter stands, where the Andover contingent 
gave a last raucous cheer. Then everybody made 
his way to the station, to board the special train. 
This pulled out of Exeter about half-past five, 
reaching Andover at seven. It was a noisy crowd 
which filled the cars, giving school yells as they 


182 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

passed through each little country village and 
talking in loud tones about each play from be¬ 
ginning to end of the game. When they reached 
Andover, the bells were ringing out from the 
Tower and Alumni Hall, and a good part of the 
town^s floating population seemed to be gathered 
there to meet them. The players were trans¬ 
ported in automobiles to their eating places, where 
they ate ravenously a well-deserved supper. 
Afterwards Steve awaited with some eagerness his 
second celebration. He had made his A ’’ in 
both football and baseball; Joe had made his in 
football and track. They were the only two 
preps with such a record. 

It was a warm evening, and everybody from 
the town was out to watch the proceedings. Au¬ 
tomobiles fllled every available parking-space near 
the Main Street. The marching lines of boys, 
their torches waving about above their heads, 
made a beautiful picture in the twilight. Add to 
this the inevitable brass band, and it may be un¬ 
derstood that Andover Hill was no haven of rest 
that night. Once again Steve, as he had done in 
the fall, listened to addresses from popular mem¬ 
bers of the faculty; once again he watched the 
fire mount high towards heaven; once again he 


SPRING TERM 


183 


himself made his little speech to the throng of 
boys clustered around the barge. Then came a 
walk home under the rising moon, and the long 
quiet sleep that follows victory. 

One more week passed by, and then Bacca¬ 
laureate Sunday arrived. Although they were un¬ 
der-classmen, Steve and his friends were inter¬ 
ested in the proceedings. From the campus, he 
watched the seniors assemble at the head of the 
Elm Arch, near Brechin Hall, and then march to 
the chapel, guided by their marshals. The ser¬ 
mon that afternoon was by an old favorite, the 
Reverend Nehemiah Thornton, who was regularly 
voted each year the most popular visiting 
preacher. He began with some wonderful lines 
which Steve had never heard before: 

^‘When all the world is young, lad. 

And all the trees are green; 

And every goose a swan, lad, 

And every lass a queen; 

Then hey for boot and horse, lad, 

And round the world away; 

Young blood must have its course, lad, 
And every dog his day.^’ 

He was evidently a man full of the joy of life, 
rich in optimism and in hope,—an ideal person 
to appeal to young men and understand their 
dreams. Youth, he said, was the time of oppor- 


184 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


tunity. Then, when the blood flowed warm and 
glowing, was the period when faith was inculcated 
and noble deeds were planned. As he listened, 
Steve felt capable of anything, like Sir Galahad 
riding forth to battle for the right. And then, at 
the close of the service, came what to Steve was 
always an inspiring moment, when the congrega¬ 
tion joined in America,” the stirring national 
anthem which had been written nearly a century 
before on Andover Hill. 

“My country, ’tis of thee. 

Sweet land of liberty. 

Of thee I sing.’’ 

The next three days were fllled with flnal ex¬ 
aminations, and the four friends were very busy. 
They were not to see the Commencement festivi¬ 
ties, the rule at Andover being that lower class- 
men should leave for their homes as soon as their 
work was over. All the available rooms on the 
Hill are needed for returning alumni, and the 
boys would simply have been in the way. Thus 
it was that, on Tuesday evening, the four sat to¬ 
gether in Steve's room for a last talk before they 
separated for the summer. 

‘‘ It won't be very long before we'll be getting 
our ‘ dips' like Bo Swift and the rest of them,” 


SPRING TERM 185 

said Hal, looking across the campus to where the 
Seniors were sitting, singing school songs and 
making the most of their last days at Andover. 

“ Some of you will. I wish I were sure of get¬ 
ting mine,’' replied Joe soberly. 

What do you care? ” broke in Ted. ‘‘ Here 
you are on two teams and you aren’t satisfied.” 

Look here, Ted,” replied Joe, more slowly 
than usual. You may have brains, but it looks 
to me as if you hadn’t grown up yet. I’d rather 
have a ^ dip ’ from this place than get my letter 
in every sport from football down to halma. Just 
being an athlete isn’t everything.” 

That’s easy for you to say, of course,” was 
Ted’s response. It looks like nothing to you be¬ 
cause you don’t have to work for it, any more 
than Hal does to make the Honor Roll.” 

Say, you shrimp, why do you suppose I slaved 
away all spring on beautiful afternoons just toss¬ 
ing a ball of lead? It was drudgery, that’s all. I 
would much rather have been out paddling a ca¬ 
noe or lying under some tree.” 

^^Yes, why did you do it,” interrupted Hal, 
and why did Steve just plug away at pitching 
when he had almost none of the excitement of 
the real games? ” 


186 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


I don’t know,” answered Steve. I was won¬ 
dering about that the other day. It’s partly 
ambition to make the nine some day, and partly 
because I just couldn’t help it. I had to do what 
I could for the good of the school.” 

“ That’s it,” added Hal, summing up the dis¬ 
cussion, it’s the old place that gets you. It’s 
partly because it goes back to the Revolution, 
and partly because so many fine men have come 
here. But most of all, it’s because it’s a place 
where boys have to become men or else get out. 
Really if we weren’t so darned afraid of becoming 
sentimental, we would speak out and say that we 
love every blade of grass on Andover Hill.” And 
with this outburst of unusual emotion, the year 
closed for the four friends, and they went each 
his own way until the fall, and the beginning of 
a new year. 



THE MEMOIIIAL TOWER. 

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VIII 


THE SECOND YEAR 

The four boys spent the three months of the 
summer vacation in varied and characteristic 
ways. Hal went with his family to their home 
at Magnolia, on the famous Massachusetts North 
Shore, where he played tennis and golf, lounged 
about in flannels, swam and danced, and lived the 
luxurious existence of the idle rich. Ted sailed 
for Europe with his mother, and wandered about 
the French chateaux, frankly longing for the re¬ 
opening of school. Joe went on a long fishing trip 
with his uncle through the Maine Woods and 
into the wilds of Canada. As for Steve, he worked 
on a Montana ranch, handling cattle and horses 
like a cowboy, and learning some vital lessons in 
democracy. From avocations and occupations 
such as these, they came back to Andover, each 
with his own experiences to relate; and all fall 
they seemed never to tire of telling yarns about 
what had happened to them while they were 
separated. 


187 


188 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

They returned to Andover in September as to 
a well-remembered home. Here was familiar 
ground, where they were acquainted with every 
local custom and where they were sure to find 
loyal friends. As Steve stepped from the train, 
he greeted all the taxi-drivers and baggage men 
by their first names, and stopped to chat with 
each. Walking up the hill to the town, he saw 
some one he knew all along the route, and his 
progress from there up to the school was a series 
of hearty salutations. 

Hi, Steve, where’d you come from? 

Well, when did you blow in? ” 

There’s some good material this fall, Steve.” 
Say, I’ll bet you’ve put on ten pounds. 
You’re in great condition. And wait until you 
see Joe Watson.” 

Steve went right to Day Hall, the dormitory to 
which the four friends had been assigned, Steve 
and Joe living together, Ted and Hal having each 
a single room. Ted was already there unpacking 
his clothes and hanging pictures of foreign cathe¬ 
drals on his walls. He almost fell on Steve’s neck 
with joy; and, while they were talking away about 
their adventures, Joe appeared, brown as an old 
suit-case and looking strong as a Hercules. When 


189 


THE SECOND YEAR 

he took Ted’s hand in his brawny grasp, the latter 
winced with pain and said, '' What’s the matter? 
Are you trying to show off how powerful you are? 
Try your stunts on somebody else.” Joe laugh¬ 
ingly apologized, saying, “ Too bad, Ted. I’ve 
been dealing with woods guides all summer, and 
they’re not tender plants like you. I’ll be gentle 
with you after this.” 

Before evening, Hal had driven out from Bos¬ 
ton in the family Packard, and the four friends 
were reunited. They sat up until a very late hour 
reminiscing and laying plans for the fall. Their 
house-prof,” Mr. Theodore Walker, was a man 
whom they all knew and liked. He was a tall, 
sandy-haired, rather saturnine-looking person, 
who, in spite of what seemed like an air of morbid 
despondency, had really a deep sympathy with 
boys and their problems and liked nothing better 
than to listen to their conversation. For some 
unknown reason he had been christened Pat ” 
by his students, and the name had stuck. Pat ” 
had a dry wit which was exceedingly disturbing 
to those who incurred his displeasure, and he was 
not a master whom boys chose often to defy. It 
was Steve who had suggested their trying to get 
into Day Hall, and they had adopted his pro- 


190 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

posal,—a sure evidence of his growing power of 
leadership. 

Fortunately for the continuance of their rela¬ 
tionship, all four had been promoted and were 
now members of the Upper Middle Class. Con¬ 
scious of their new dignity, they looked on all the 
green preps ” with condescension, and even did 
some hazing, especially Ted, who found in this 
pastime an outlet for his wit. They talked a 
good deal, also, about the maintenance of the old 
traditions and customs, and Hal was heard to say 
that the new boys that fall looked very young. 
These were merely symptoms that they were 
growing up ’’ in the school. 

Each one went directly to his own task in 
school life. Steve and Joe were, of course, out 
for football, and practice began immediately. 
Hal and Ted were both on the Phillipian 
board, and Ted, in addition, was trying for foot¬ 
ball manager. At the class elections, Joe was 
nominated for president and won easily, chiefly 
because of his athletic achievements, which had 
made him a well-known figure on the campus. It 
was obvious at once that the four friends were to 
take an influential place among their fellows. 

In their classes they had mainly the same sub- 


THE SECOND YEAR 


191 


jects, but with different instructors. Often they 
would compare notes and talk over the methods 
of their teachers, with a soundness of criticism 
which would have astonished some of those gen¬ 
tlemen if they could have heard it. Boys have an 
uncanny discernment with regard to the weak¬ 
nesses of their masters, and it takes them only a 
brief period to discover which one can be deceived 
and which cannot. 

Ted, in spite of his lessons of the previous year, 
still prided himself on his ability to beat the 
game, and he had saved all his back English 
themes, intending to use them again if occasion 
permitted. At the first exercise of the term. 
Hook ” Edwards, his English teacher, who was 
also a poet of considerable reputation, announced 
a four hundred word theme on one of several as¬ 
signed subjects, among which was The Char¬ 
acter of a Great Man.^^ That evening Ted ex¬ 
amined his assortment of essays, resurrected one 
on “ Hannibal ’’ which he had used the year be¬ 
fore, and, hastily recopying it, handed it proudly 
in,—proudly because it had received the year be¬ 
fore the mark of 

In due course this particular group of themes 
was graded and handed back; and Ted, to his 


192 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

discomfiture, found himself presented with a large 
‘‘ E,’' in red crayon, symbolizing a failure. 

Great Scott! he exclaimed, as he displayed 
the paper to the others. “ What kind of English 
teachers do we get here? They don’t follow the 
same system at all. Look here! One man gives 
you an honor; another flunks you with an ^ E.’ 
And they’re both in the same department.” 

Why don’t you tell Hook all about it? ” sug¬ 
gested Hal gently. He’s a good sport, and he 
might think it was funny.” 

“ Yes, it would be funny all right for you and 
for him, but not exactly for me. It would strike 
Hook as so humorous that he might have me 
^ fired.’ ” 

On the next morning at his eleven o’clock reci¬ 
tation, Mr. Edwards began by commenting on 
some of the themes which had been handed in. 
** Some of them are excellent,” he said, and in¬ 
dicate much promise. Others are not so good. 
There is one curious case that I can’t help speak¬ 
ing about. One of these themes I had read be¬ 
fore, in fact, last year. Just before Christmas, 
Mr. Hobson, who teaches Lower Middle English, 
was ill for a few days and asked me to correct 
some of his themes in time for the term ratings 


THE SECOND YEAR 


193 


I did it for him with pleasure and interest, and, as 
it happened, read them with a good deal of care. 
One of them, dealing with a great Carthaginian 
hero, began with a rather striking sentence,— 
‘ Hannibal, the bright star of Carthaginian mili¬ 
tary prowess, was hanging at the moment by a 
single thread.^ This unusual jumble of figures I 
have never forgotten. What was my surprise 
when I was going through this last installment of 
compositions to corne across a theme the opening 
sentence of which read,—^ Hannibal, the bright 
star of Carthaginian military prowess, was hang¬ 
ing at the moment by a single thread.^ Startled, I 
tried to recollect where I had met with this mas¬ 
terpiece before. Suddenly it dawned upon me. I 
put two and two together, went over the evidence, 
investigated Mr. Hobson’s records, and concluded 
that one of you enterprising young men had been 
trying, as the school slang has it, to ‘ put some¬ 
thing over on me.’ I determined not to let my¬ 
self be the simple victim of a conspiracy. I 
therefore bestowed a large red ^ E ’ upon this 
year’s version, without indicating in any way my 
reasons for assigning this low grade. The gentle¬ 
man thus rewarded is, I imagine, going around 
among you thinking himself much abused. If he 


194 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


is wise, he will write for me another theme of 
twice the length originally assigned, and will make 
an apology to me at my room this evening/’ 

During this little talk, Ted, unabashed though 
he ordinarily was, felt himself turning a deeper 
and deeper crimson. As Hook went on, Ted’s 
heart began to thump at a rapid rate, and shivered 
at the exposure which was inevitable. Gradually, 
however, he saw that Hook was probably not 
going to reveal his infamy, and he attempted to 
assume an expression of complete ignorance. It 
was of no avail. He had told of the episode to 
many of his friends, and glances soon were cast 
in his direction, followed by smiles and a universal 
titter. Ted wished himself a thousand miles 
away. Luckily the ordeal was not a long one, for 
Mr. Edwards, who was naturally of a kindly dis¬ 
position, shifted the subject, not, however, before 
Ted had inwardly resolved not to be caught again 
in that disgraceful fashion. 

At shortly after eight that evening Ted was 
standing in the corridor leading to Mr. Edwards’s 
room. Come in,” said the teacher in response 
to Ted’s timid knock. ‘Ah, good-evening, Sher¬ 
man, I had an idea it might be you. Sit down, 
won’t you? ” 


THE SECOND YEAR 


195 


I don’t believe—I don’t think-” 

Better take a seat, Sherman. I never knew 
you to be tongue-tied before. You usually can 
talk well enough.” 

I’m sorry about that theme-” 

Oh, yes, you’re the man that tried to crib 
from himself. I remember now. You’re a mighty 
clever young chap, all right.” 

I guess not, sir. I’m the world’s biggest fool. 
But I’m really awfully sorry. I don’t know what 
made me do it. Just because I’m naturally dumb, 
I suppose.” 

Oh, no, not as bad as that. You just forgot 
that I’m an old Andover man myself and know 
most of the tricks.” 

You certainly caught me beautifully.” 

Look here, Sherman, do you want me to 
preach to you a little? ” 

I wish you would; maybe I could learn some¬ 
thing.” 

“ Well, here goes. I’ve watched you off and 
on for some time, and I know more about you 
than you think. You’re bright enough, and often 
get honors in your subjects when you’re willing 
to buckle down to them. The only trouble is 
that you can’t help trying to beat the game. 




196 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


Why don’t you try for a while to play on the 
square? It’s just as easy for you, and a good 
deal less trouble. It wouldn’t have taken you 
much longer to write me a brand new theme than 
it did to copy off that old one. You’re a friend 
of Steve Fisher’s. Look how he acts. He hasn’t 
half your head for books, and yet he has a much 
better reputation with the faculty than you have. 
You want to succeed here, and turn out to be a 
leader. You’ll never do it by trickery. I know 
Andover and Andover men, and I never yet saw 
a fellow who gained the honest respect of his 
classmates through crookedness. You may get 
away with it for a while, but you’ll lose in the 
end. Now what do you think of this doctrine you 
have just heard? ” 

It’s a lot better than a good many sermons 
I hear in chapel, that’s sure, sir. I’m ashamed 
of myself, and I’ll try to make good with you 
yet.” 

All right, we’ll let it go at that. And now tell 
me about your plans for the Phillipian this 
fall.” 

Ted left, half an hour later after a pleasant 
chat, with relief in his heart. When he dropped 
in for a moment to see how Joe was getting along, 


THE SECOND YEAR 197 

the latter inquired, “ Well, did he give it to you 
right? 

“ Not very much. Say, Joe, that man^s a 
square ^ prof.^ 

What, aren’t you going to be suspended or 
put on probation? ” 

‘‘ No, but I’m going to cut out being smart.” 

Complete and total reform. Learned your 

lesson, haven’t you?” 

» 

You bet,” answered Ted, grinning sheepishly. 

“ Good! We’ll make a man of you yet.” 

As a matter of fact, the trouble for the friends 
came from another source, from that very Steve 
whom Mr. Edwards had praised so highly. Ab¬ 
sorbed in athletics, Steve had unconsciously neg¬ 
lected his studies. Confident that the faculty 
would not annoy such a brilliant halfback as he 
was proving to be, he did not hand in his written 
work regularly and soon got behind. His life was 
being lived out on the playing fields, and he spent 
his study hours running through imaginary plays 
or picturing himself as he dashed ninety yards on 
the kick-off fpr a touchdown. Two or three of 
his instructors warned him, but he was indifferent 
to their advice. Then came the first fall rating, 
when the grades of all the students were handed 


198 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

in. Hal and Ted had done well. Even Joe had 
passed in all his courses. But Steve found him¬ 
self with failures in every subject. 

“ Isn't it terrible? " he asked Joe, as he read 
the fatal record of his deficiencies. What am I 
going to do? Of course I shall be on ‘ non-ex,' 
and maybe they'll put me on probation." It 
should be explained here that every student who 
fails in more than eight hours of work is auto¬ 
matically placed on the no-excuse list," and 
hence debarred from taking part on any school 
team until he makes up his conditions. In spe¬ 
cial cases the faculty can put a student on “ pro¬ 
bation "; then he is forbidden to represent the 
school not only until he is removed but also for 
the following term. To be on non-ex " is, for 
an athlete, not at all pleasant, but he can rein¬ 
state himself by attention to his duties; to be on 
“ pro " is much worse, for he cannot then play on 
a team until the ensuing term has gone by. 

On the next day the faculty met. It is not 
discreet to unveil the secrets of that tribunal, but 
this much may be disclosed. When Steve's name 
was brought up, there was much discussion by 
his teachers. Finally the Head remarked, I've 
watched Fisher for a good while now, and I am 


THE SECOND YEAR 


199 


sure that there’s the right kind of stuff in him. 
But there’s no hope for him unless he’s brought 
up now with a sharp jolt. If we let him think 
that he can neglect his work just because he’s an 
athlete, we’ll never make anything out of him. 
He has failed in every course; he has no excuse 
but too much football; I don’t see what we can 
do except to put him on probation.” Some of 
the teachers interested in sports winced, but the 
logic was unquestionable. Steve was accordingly 
voted on ‘‘ pro,” and was out of the game for the 
season. 

It’s an outrage,” shouted Joe, when the sad 
news arrived the next morning. I’m going to 
see the Head about it.” 

“ Better not,” replied Steve. “ It won’t do any 
good. I’m going to take my punishment and say 
nothing.” 

That evening, after Joe had gone to bed and 
was peacefully snoring, Steve sat up in his study 
with his Trigonometry book open in front of him. 
He had many things to ponder over. He knew, 
better than any one else, how foolish he had been 
to spend all his time on football. He realized 
also that his loss in the backfield would cripple 
the team, and that the responsibility for defeat, 


200 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


if it came, would rest largely on him. But he had 
too much sense to blame anybody but himself. 
His chief regret was for his father, who expected 
him to keep his record clean and would be broken¬ 
hearted. Altogether, Steve was more despondent 
than he had ever been before. 

At his formal interview with the Head the next 
day, Steve made no attempt to plead for leniency, 
and the Head was too wise to lecture him. He 
said merely, Well, Fisher, it's a bit of hard luck, 
such as everybody has to face once in a while. 
I know that you’re going to show now how a real 
man faces trouble.” 

Through Steve’s mind ran the lines from As 
You Like It ” which they had been discussing 
that morning: 

' ‘ Sweet are the uses of adversity; 

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.” 

His resolve was made, and he did not need any 
further inducement to confirm his resolution. 

For the next few weeks, Steve toiled as he had 
never toiled before. He still put on his football 
togs every afternoon and went out to practise 
with the team, and his powerful charging with 
the scrubs ” made them formidable opponents. 


THE SECOND YEAR 


201 


But he did this solely from loyalty to the school; 
he was much more interested in showing his teach¬ 
ers that he had a mind, and that he was not just 
a “ mere athlete/’ Steve found unexpected en¬ 
couragement in his efforts. One day on the street 
he met Colonel ” Pitman, a Latin instructor 
with a reputation for severity,—and thorough¬ 
ness. Fisher,” said Mr. Pitman, I understand 
that you’ve got a good deal of Cicero to make up. 
Come around to my house to-night and let me 
help you a little.” Steve, a little astonished, for 
he did not know Mr. Pitman well, assented al¬ 
most without reflecting, and then spent the rest 
of the day in a state of embarrassment. What 
could he do? Mr. Pitman was not*his teacher, 
and Steve had no extra money to pay for tutor¬ 
ing. It was with some natural trepidation that 
Steve approached Mr. Pitman’s house and rang 
the bell. 

Glad to see you, Fisher,” came a genial voice 
at the door, and Steve was ushered into a study 
where the walls were lined with books and pic¬ 
tures. Sit down, and I’ll be with you in a min¬ 
ute, as soon as I finish this letter.” In a short 
time he was free, and, turning around in his chair, 
said, Did you bring your Cicero? ” 


202 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

Yes, but Mr. Pitman, I forgot to tell you that 
I must do the work myself. I can’t afford a 
tutor.” 

Bosh,” said Mr. Pitman in a gruff voice. 

Stuff and nonsense! Who said anything about 
tutoring? I’m just going to see if I can’t show 
you how to study.” 

The next two hours were a revelation to Steve. 
Without telling him the meaning of words, Mr. 
Pitman put him through a set of questions that 
made him think. Why? Why? ” the teacher 
kept saying, and Steve began to see in the text 
things that had never occurred to him before. 
For the first time in his life he was in intimate 
contact with a trained mind, and it was like a 
cold bath on a warm day,—it gave him a new 
ambition. When he left Mr. Pitman’s house at 
ten o’clock, he was a changed boy. 

For a week Steve spent a few minutes with Mr. 
Pitman each evening, not going over his lesson, 
but simply learning methods of work. Mean¬ 
while he was getting results. It was a great day 
for Steve when his Latin instructor, Mr. Symonds, 
called him up to the desk and said, Fisher, I 
want to congratulate you on the improvement 
you have made.” And when he for the first time 


203 


THE SECOND YEAR 

received an A in English, he was as happy as 
when he won the A ’’ on his blue sweater. Steve 
was in no danger of becoming either a prig or a 
plugger. He was merely learning the lesson which 
every worth-while boy has sometime to learn,— 
that brains are better than brawn. 

The eleven, without Steve, was having a hard 
time. It played a tie game with Lawrenceville, 
but was badly beaten by the Harvard Freshmen. 
By the week of the Exeter contest, however, the 
undergraduates had developed renewed confidence 
in their representatives, and Andover was reported 
as hopeful.’^ If this were the traditional school 
story, Steve would be taken off probation at the 
last moment and would come dashing on the field 
just in time to save the old school from defeat. 
But unfortunately things do not often go like 
that at Andover. The old-time school yarn, more¬ 
over, would give Andover a victory over Exeter 
by one point in the last minute of play, and then 
Steve would cry, “ Thank Heaven, the boys won 
the game without me.^’ But even this did not 
happen. What did occur was that Exeter pro¬ 
duced a team which, even with Steve playing 
halfback, would probably have beaten Andover, 
and which overwhelmed the eleven without him 


204 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

by a score of 26 to 0. It was unquestionably a 
triumph for Exeter. As the sporting writers have 
it: “Andover fought to the finish/' but to no 
avail. Joe blocked every play through right 
guard and tried desperately to cover most of the 
other positions, but he was helpless. The school 
came home on the special train despondent and 
weary. But within a week the whole disaster was 
forgotten, and the boys were talking about pros¬ 
pects in basketball and hockey. The unfortunate 
football season was a matter of history. 

Steve meanwhile had not relaxed his efforts. 
As he sat on the bench at Exeter watching the 
game, his muscles had fairly twinged with a long¬ 
ing to be in the scrimmage; but that same night, 
when every one else was wandering restlessly 
about making the usual “ post mortem ” com¬ 
ments, he was at his desk finishing up some back 
problems in Mathematics. 

“ Say, can’t you cut out that study stuff for 
one evening and come over for a game of bridge? ” 
asked Hal. 

“ I can’t to-night. Sorry. If I don’t get these 
things done before Monday, I’ll be in a hole.” 

“What are you trying to do,—turn into a 
‘prof’?” 


THE SECOND YEAR 205 

“ Not so bad as that, I hope. I’m just trying 
to get even with the game.” 

“All right, all right,” grumbled Hal, “only 
don’t go so far that you kick all your old friends 
outdoors.” 

The fall term drew slowly to a close, in the 
customary riot of examinations and tests of all 
kinds, and Steve redoubled his zeal. He had now 
something of the confidence which comes from 
knowledge, and which is of immense help to any 
boy in a recitation-room. At last the long ordeal 
was over, and Steve went to Boston for another 
visit with Hal’s family. Here it was that his re¬ 
port reached him: 


Latin A 

English B 

French A 

History B 


Trigonometry C 

With it, his father enclosed a letter which the 
Head had sent, part of which read as follows: 

“ I have never in my long career as teacher 
known a case where a boy has so markedly im¬ 
proved in his work in such a short time. Your 
son has really high intellectual gifts and should 
have a fine record in scholarship before he leaves. 


206 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


My problem now is to see that he properly ad¬ 
justs his athletics to his studies; for he is such a 
good athlete that we cannot afford to let him be 
lost to our teams/^ 

As a matter of fact, Steve had been punished 
sufficiently, and had resolved that in the future 
he would never let himself fall below a good aver¬ 
age in his work. As soon as the winter term be¬ 
gan, he took his father’s advice and called on the 
Head, who welcomed him warmly. As they sat 
before the fire talking about matters of school 
life, the subject of Steve’s delinquency naturally 
arose. I can see now,” said Steve, “ that put¬ 
ting me on probation was the best thing that 
could have happened to me. I was certainly hot 
at first, and wanted to leave it all and start in 
work. But that would have been quitting, of 
course.” 

Did you ever read Kipling’s ‘ If ’ ? ” asked the 
Head, as if turning the subject. 

No, I don’t think so,” replied Steve. “ I 
know the ‘ Jungle Books,’ but not much else of 
his.” 

Here,” continued the Head, reaching up to a 
shelf and taking down a volume, take this copy 
and try it. It isn’t great poetry, they tell me, 


THE SECOND YEAR 207 

but it’s good stuff just the same; and I think 
you’ll see what he’s trying to drive at.” 

When Steve found the lines, he caught the ap¬ 
plication at once, and there was something about 
the poem which fascinated him. He had not 
memorized any verses since the days when he 
used to recite: 

‘ ‘ Tell me not in mournful numbers 
Life is but an empty dream, ^ ^ 

or 

‘‘Blessings on thee, little man. 

Barefoot boy with cheeks of tan.^’ 

But the swing of If ” seized his imagination and 
he would sometimes astonish Joe and Hal by re¬ 
citing dramatically: 

“If you can keep your head when all about you 
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you. ’ ^ 

Ted took an ignoble revenge by calling Steve 
<< Virgil ” and “ Byron,” but Steve was immune 
to insult. His education was progressing at a 
rapid rate. 

One feature of Andover life is the Sunday morn¬ 
ing sermon, sometimes given by the Head, but 
more often by some visiting clergyman of wide 
reputation. Most of these men know how to 


208 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


handle boys and are careful not to do ridiculous 
things. But every once in a while some preacher, 
usually one inexperienced in schools, arouses the 
wrath or the mirth of the student body. On one 
Sunday morning in January the preacher was a 
Western bishop, who had never been in Andover 
before, but who evidently had an idea that he 
was in a kind of Sunday School and must “ talk 
down to meet the inferior intelligence of his 
congregation. 

“ My deah young friends,’^ he began, in a high- 
pitched nasal voice, let me address you this 
mawning, as one older, and perhaps wiser, than 
yourselves. I wish to talk with you briefly on 
the sweetness of life,—the sweetness of life. What 
an exquisite phrase! The sweetness of life! My 
deah boys, life is rich, life is clean, life is precious, 
life is sweet. And nowhere is it more rich, more 
clean, more precious, more sweet, than in this 
deah school.^^ 

By this time the school had formed its estimate 
of the speaker and smiles were passing from 
mouth to mouth. But, with that instinctive 
courtesy which Andover boys always display when 
they know that the Head is looking at them 
grimly, they managed to twist their faces into 


THE SECOND YEAR 209 

a semblance of seriousness, and the bishop con¬ 
cluded his sermon in peace. 

After the morning service, the Head, at the 
bishop^s request, showed him about the school 
and took him to see one or two boys’ rooms. 
With a hope that Steve and Joe might have their 
quarters decently picked up, he escorted his guest 
to Day Hall, climbed the stairs, knocked on the 
door, and then opened it carefully; then, to his 
dismay, there floated out, in a voice which was a 
perfect reproduction of the clergyman’s rather 
affected intonation: And finally, my deah 
friends, boys who are so rich in hope and all the 
deah things of life”—Hal, who had a remark¬ 
able gift of mimicry, was quite obviously enter¬ 
taining a group of friends with a parody of the 
morning sermon. The Head closed the door with 
a Bang! ” and fled precipitately, hardly daring 
to trust himself to look at his visitor. 

Among Steve’s best friends in Andover were 
fellows from other countries, including Chinese 
and Japanese, who were often very popular in 
the school. Some of them made the soccer team, 
and most of them did very well in their studies. 
Indeed it was during this very year that a Chinese 
won a fifty-dollar prize in American History, and 


210 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

another was second in the Means speaking con¬ 
test. Often boys from Japan and from Holland, 
from Cuba, and from Mexico, would be found in 
the same class. Of negroes there were very few, 
but there did happen to be one who lived in 
Steve’s dormitory. His name was Burton, and 
he was almost white in color, with very few Ethi¬ 
opian characteristics. He was always quiet in 

I 

manner and tended strictly to business. 

During the Christmas holidays, Steve came 
back to Andover after spending a week with Hal, 
and one day found under his door an invitation 
to take Sunday dinner with Jack ” Foote, one 
of the Senior English instructors. When Steve 
appeared at one-thirty, he found Burton there in 
the Foote library, and naturally greeted him 
cordially. As they sat down to dinner, Mrs. 
Foote, who was famous for her hospitality, said: 
Where is your home, Mr. Burton? ” 

In Birmingham, Alabama, ma’am,” he replied, 
with a faint suggestion of a Southern drawl. 

Oh, yes, I should have known by your accent 
that you were a Southerner. And how do your 
people get along with the negroes when there are 
so many around? ” 

Steve, who was fully acquainted with Burton’s 


THE SECOND YEAR 


211 


antecedents, was horrified, but had presence of 
mind to ask politely for the salt. Unfortunately 
Mrs. Foote, her curiosity aroused, wished to pur¬ 
sue the subject to the end. 

‘‘ Really, Mr. Burton,’' she asked, are there 
any decent negroes around you? I mean any that 
you can talk with or respect.” 

Yes, ma’am,” responded Burton politely, 
there are many who are friends of mine.” 

But,” continued Mrs. Foote,—and then Steve 
violated all the rules of etiquette by deliberately 
hitting a small vase of flowers with his sleeve and 
overturning it. The water spread over the table¬ 
cloth and Mrs. Foote seemed much perturbed, but 
Steve had accomplished his purpose. His apolo¬ 
gies were profuse and lengthy; and then the sub¬ 
ject turned in another direction and was not re¬ 
sumed. A day or two later Steve happened to 
meet Mr. Foote on the street and explained to 
him the motive for his strange conduct. 

Fisher,” said Mr. Foote when the story was 
over, you’re a genius, and I’ll recommend you 
to any diplomat I know for a job as his secretary. 
I never knew a fellow who had so much native 
tact.” 

I guess it wasn’t tact, Mr. Foote,” responded 



212 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


Steve. “ I was just scared for fear Mrs. Foote 
might get in wrong.’^ 

If that isn’t tact, then I never saw a diction¬ 
ary,” was Mr. Foote’s answer. Anyhow, you 
saved Mrs. Foote a good deal of embarrassment, 
and I’m very grateful.” 

Two of the most picturesque figures in school 
that year were the Romanoff boys, sons of a 
Russian nobleman who had fallen from his high 
estate during the World War and been obliged to 
become a refugee in Constantinople. There the 
two youngsters had been found by a wealthy 
American, who promised to educate them. He 
had, therefore, brought them to the United States 
and sent them to Andover, where they had fur¬ 
nished diversion from the moment of their ar¬ 
rival. Neither one had ever done any work, either 
manual or mental, and they declined to take their 
studies seriously. Instead they loafed about the 
dormitory, bothering everybody else and swallow¬ 
ing without reservation all sorts of strange stories 
told them by the students. 

It happened that Fat ” Stillman, a lazy, 
mischievous rascal in the Senior Class, took a keen 
delight in annoying the Romanoff brothers. One 
night the older Romanoff, whose name was Ivan, 


THE SECOND YEAR 


213 


stopped in at Ted’s room for a conference. Later 
that evening Ted appeared at Fat’s quarters, bear¬ 
ing a huge document, sealed with wax and looking 
like a government communication. 

‘^What’s this?” said Fat, looking suspiciously 
at Ted. 

“ Read it,” answered Ted laconically. 

Fat made his way through several thicknesses 
of paper and finally arrived at a letter, written 
in a heavy ornate hand, which, when deciphered, 
read something as follows: 

“ Mr. Stillman, Sir: 

You have insult me, and I must reply 
you have the bats in your belfry. If you are 
gentleman you will answer by the sword. The 
porter will make arrangement, please. 

With the respect, your slave, 

“ Ivan Romanoff.” 

“ Say, what are you trying to do? Trying to 
make a goat out of me? ” 

“ I guess not. This Romanoff’s a gentleman, 
and I’m his second. He’s challenging you to a 
duel and you’ll have to accept or be called a 
coward.” 

Who’s a coward? I don’t want to fight this 
infernal foreigner.” 

How are you going to get out of it? Roman- 


214 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


off was brought up around the Czar’s court, and 
he’ll think it’s mighty strange if you try to escape 
his challenge. Look here, Fat, this is a matter 
of national honor. You’ve got to meet him.” 

What does he want to fight with? ” 

Swords, of course. What else would gentle¬ 
men use? You seem to think this is an ordinary 
street brawl. I tell you this is the real thing. 
You’ll have to fight him or be run out of An¬ 
dover.” 

Fat was terrified. He had never dreamed of 
anything like this. He would have been brave 
enough in a boxing match, but a fight with swords 
made him shiver with fear. At the same time 
he had no wish to be made the laughing-stock of 
the school. 

When does he want to fight? ” he stammered. 

“ To-morrow, at dawn, just north of the ceme¬ 
tery.” 

The cemetery!” gasped Fat. ‘‘The ceme¬ 
tery! ” 

“ Of course. That’s the best place. There’ll be 
nobody to disturb us there.” 

“ Oh, yes, that’ll be fine,—fine,” said Fat, try¬ 
ing to appear courageous, but inwardly getting 
more and more alarmed. 


THE SECOND YEAR 


215 


“ You’d better get a second right away. Maybe 
Steve Fisher will help you out. Shall I tell my 
man that you’ll be there? ” 

Yes, I’ll be there,” whispered Fat; and Ted 
went chuckling back to the Romanoffs to settle 
further details. 

Just after six o’clock the next morning, in the 
cold and damp March air, several figures might 
have been seen stealing out of Day Hall. Among 
them was Fat Stillman, his knees knocking to¬ 
gether, with Steve on one side and Joe on the 
other,—for both had generously agreed to be his 
seconds. 

Brace up. Fat,” said Joe. And remember 
that you’re fighting this morning for the honor 
of your country.” 

Yes,” added Steve, even if you’re wounded 
or killed, you’ll never be forgotten.” 

At the rendezvous the two Romanoffs and Ted 
had already gathered, Ted carrying ostentatiously 
two heavy sabres, richly ornamented with silver 
and evidently the property of some Russian of¬ 
ficer. Ted handed one to Ivan Romanoff, 
who promptly proceeded to swing it through 
the air with the dexterity of a practised swords¬ 


man. 


216 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


“ Look here, Joe,’' said Steve, loudly enough so 
that Fat could hear. '' This is going to be murder, 
that’s all. Can’t we stop it? ” 

No,” replied Joe, grimly. Even if Fat is 
slain, he must go through with it.” 

^‘Murder!” Slain!” The dread words 
reached Fat’s ears. For a moment he wavered. 
Then, throwing his weapon to the ground, he said, 

Romanoff, I’m going to apologize if you think 
I insulted you.” 

What does he speak? ” asked Ivan. 

He says,” translated Ted, that he’s sorry 
that he injured your feelings.” 

And will he not fight? ” demanded Ivan. 

No, I won’t,” burst out the irate Fat. I’ll 
fight any man in a stand-up boxing-match, but 
I’m not going to let myself get killed by a wild 
foreigner.” 

“ Oh, ver-ee well,” smiled Ivan, throwing a 
glance of contempt at Fat. If my enem-ee will 
not fight, I cannot make him. Come on, Sergius.” 
And the two brothers, followed by Ted, stalked 
majestically off the field of combat. 

A nice American you are! ” said Steve to Fat. 

This’ll be a fine story to tell your friends,” 
added Joe. 


THE SECOND YEAR 217 

‘‘You’re not going to tell anybody about this, 
are you? ” asked Fat pleadingly. 

“ Why, it’ll be all around school in half an 
hour,” answered Joe. “ Everybody’s going to 
know about it.” 

And everybody did. Before the day was over. 
Fat began to wish that he had fought the duel, 
even though he had been killed. He began to 
realize the truth of the oratorical axiom, “ But 
there is something worse than Death.” Within 
a week, however, the Romanoffs packed up their 
goods and departed for regions unknown. Then- 
benefactor had grown weary of paying their ex¬ 
penses at what they seemed to think was an ex¬ 
cellent club. When last heard of, they were work¬ 
ing in a mill in Fall River. The memory of the 
great combat, however, lingered behind them, and 
old boys still point out to “ preps ” the spot where 
the Russian made Fat Stillman apologize. As 
for Ted, he said very little, but his thoughts were 
“ long, long thoughts.” 


IX 


SCHOOL DIVERSIONS 

After January first, the school settles frankly 
into winter quarters, emerging at intervals to go 
from class to class or to secure the necessary bod¬ 
ily sustenance for the day’s work. Andover is a 
spot where the snow falls early and often, and 
the drifts pile high along roads. Early in 
February, the wind shifted to the south, and a 
light drizzle in the afternoon made it seem like 
April. Little rivulets ran down the gutters, and 
the small boys who owned rubber boots took them 
out in order to wade dry-footed through the slush. 
Towards evening, the breeze turned colder, al¬ 
though the rain still continued to fall, and by 
nightfall it had grown so chilly that very few 
ventured out. In the very early morning Steve 
was aroused by a succession of thunderous noises, 
and stepped to the window. Never had he seen 
such a spectacle. The great elms along the Arch 
were masses of ice: the limbs were encased as if 

with armor, and branches were breaking all 

218 


SCHOOL DIVERSIONS 219 

around. Once in a while some larger limb would 
come crashing down, being shattered into bits as 
it struck the frozen ground. For a long time he 
sat watching the sight, and it was hard for him 
to get to sleep again. 

When he peered out into the daylight at seven 
o’clock, he was horrified by the destruction that 
seemed spread about. Everywhere on the campus 
were broken branches and sometimes whole trees; 
it looked like a battlefield after a bombardment. 
Wires were down all along the streets; trolley cars 
had ceased to run; and people were picking their 
way carefully among the debris. As he was on 
his way to breakfast, a falling elm branch struck 
him on the shoulder and knocked him down. He 
soon learned that he could walk under the trees 
only at the risk of his life. 

As the day brightened and the sun came out 
clear, eyes were dazzled by the shining particles. 
It was still cold,—well below the freezing point, 
—and nothing was melting. One boy was hit in 
the head by a flying limb, and then the Head 
sent notices to the dormitories declaring a vaca¬ 
tion for the remainder of the day. For many 
hours the telephones would not function and the 
electric lighting system was out of order. Ted 


220 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

and Hal spent the morning taking photographs 
of the damage which had been wrought, but most 
of the students remained under cover, obeying 
orders and reading or playing cards. In the after¬ 
noon it grew slightly warmer, and at night the 
melting process was well started. On the follow¬ 
ing day most of the ice had vanished, but relics 
of the devastation were scattered about the 
campus for a month or more. The expense of 
repairing the damage was more than eight thou¬ 
sand dollars. 

Except for this temporary thaw, however, there 
was very little warm weather that winter. One 
snowfall followed another, until the fields were 
covered to a depth of two or three feet. Then it 
was that Steve, born and bred in the West, 
brought out his skiis and showed the others a new 
form of sport. Around Pomp’s Pond were many 
hills, down which he would slide at a terrific speed, 
describing great curves and sometimes executing 
a beautiful Telemark swing. Then Joe would try, 
and would go head over heels into the deep drifts, 
unable to retain his balance on the treacherous 
shoes. After they had learned the rudiments of 
the sport, Steve constructed a low jump and dared 
them to follow him. Many an afternoon ended 


SCHOOL DIVERSIONS 221 

with sore bodies and scraped legs, and Steve would 
scoff as Joe and the others limped about or rubbed 
the bruises with arnica. The climax came when 
they all climbed Prospect Hill and came flying 
down the steep road, never stopping until they 
had gone a mile or more. It was glorious sport, 
and the boys hardly regretted the fact that the 
deep snow made skating impossible anywhere ex¬ 
cept on the hockey rink. 

The term ended in a blinding whirling snow¬ 
storm, that seemed to bury everything just at a 
moment when Nature had determined to reassert 
her rights. During the Easter vacation, Steve re¬ 
mained in Andover, making his way through 
sloughs of mud and spending his afternoons in 
the baseball cage, practising new curves. In the 
evening he read or went to the movies,’’ occa¬ 
sionally venturing out for a call on some member 
of the faculty,—always difiidently, for, like every 
manly youngster, he did not wish to be suspected 
of being a sycophant. It was at this time that he 
was introduced to books on Antarctic explora¬ 
tion, including Scott’s Last Expedition,” Cherry- 
Garrard’s The Worst Journey in the World,” 
and Shackelton’s South,” all of which so thrilled 
him that he sat up until late hours. Theirs was 


222 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

a kind of heroism which he could thoroughly ap¬ 
preciate. 

On the day when the spring term opened, the 
sun burst out once more through the clouds, and 
the mud on the campus was rapidly drying up. 
It was a strange transition which Steve watched 
in Day Hall. On Monday evening the corridors 
were silent as an Egyptian tomb, and his whistle 
echoed in the empty spaces; not a light was burn¬ 
ing except in his own room; and outside there 
was almost no noise except the purring of motors 
on Main Street and the striking of the chimes at 
regular intervals. On Tuesday, twenty-four hours 
later, the dormitory was a seething flood of hu¬ 
man life, with trunks being hurled hither and 
thither, voices roaring in loud protests or stormy 
greeting, and a general rush from one spot to 
another. The Hill was a center of energy. Life 
had returned to the dead bones of the school. 

Once started in the term, Steve found himself 
in the midst of baseball practice. It was the game 
which he really liked best. Football was often 
just hard labor, but he never grew weary of pitch¬ 
ing, and a game was for him a time of complete 
physical delight. It filled most of his spare hours, 
except on Sunday afternoons, when he sometimes 


SCHOOL DIVERSIONS 


223 


went with Hal, Ted, and one of their friends 
among the instructors on a canoeing trip up the 
Shawsheen River, the little stream that flowed 
through Andover into the wide Merrimac. On 
warm May afternoons there was no more pleasant 
pastime than paddling through the forests and 
marshes. It was an easy method of getting tem¬ 
porarily out of civilization into a region that had 
at least the superflcial appearance of primitive¬ 
ness. 

On one such seductive afternoon, Hal and Ted, 
having secured the necessary excuses, went off by 
themselves, with Joe for ballast in the bottom of 
the canoe. Steve also had taken a canoe with 

Dave ” Church, one of the younger teachers, 
and the two were following along behind. About 
a mile or two up-stream, the river, ordinarily 
rather narrow, widens out into a kind of lagoon, 
nearly a quarter of a mile wide. Here the boys 
in the front canoe were having a kind of combat, 
splashing water on each other, when suddenly 
it shifted and turned over, dumping the three oc¬ 
cupants into the water. 

Help! Help! ’’ cried Hal in imploring tones. 

I’m drowning! I’m drowning! ” And he sank 
below the surface. 


224 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

Now it happened that both Joe and Ted knew 
that Hal had never learned to swim. They were, 
therefore, very much alarmed. With sweeping 
strokes Joe rounded the bow of the canoe, just in 
time to see Hahs head, crowned with eel-grass, 
emerge, and to watch him stand erect, only breast- 
high in the water. Joe, who had never thought 
of letting his feet down, quickly discovered that 
he could touch bottom, and then Ted, who was on 
the other side, gave a loud laugh, as he called 
out: 

“ We’re on some kind of a sand-bar. It isn’t 
over three or four feet deep.” 

Meanwhile several other boats, including the 
one occupied by Steve, drew nearer, in time to 
see the three boys, who presented a ludicrous ap¬ 
pearance, standing, covered with mud and slime, 
up to their waists in water. Without losing any 
time, the three turned the canoe over, bailed it 
out, and crawled in, while the spectators made 
scoffing remarks. When they had recovered suffi¬ 
ciently to paddle off, Ted said, That was a real 
heroic rescue you made, Joe.” 

“ Shut up, will you! ” returned Joe, in no 
angelic humor. Don’t you know that we won’t 
hear the last of this? Steve was in one of those 


SCHOOL DIVERSIONS 225 

canoes with Dave Church, and he’ll tell it all 
over school.” 

“ Well, I honestly thought I was going to 
drown,” put in Hal. 

I know you did,” responded Joe. That’s the 
trouble.” 

The three came back to the Hill as unostenta¬ 
tiously as possible, but not without some stares 
and a few comments on their damp clothes and 
generally bedraggled appearance. At dinner that 
evening, one or two fellows ventured on some 
references to the heroic rescue, but Joe’s attitude 
of belligerency dissuaded most of the jesters from 
going very far. Apparently the incident was to 
be forgotten. 

Two weeks later, however, the May issue of the 
Mirror, the alleged literary ” magazine of the 
school, came out. Joe, who seldom read the peri¬ 
odical, was glancing through his copy preparatory 
to tossing it into the waste basket, when his eye 
fell on something of interest. The item in ques¬ 
tion read as follows: 

HEROIC RESCUE OF DROWNING MAN BY 
ANDOVER FOOTBALL HERO 

In the deepest part of the Shawsheen, where 
the water in that mighty stream is nearly waist- 


226 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


high, a canoe containing three well-known An¬ 
dover men was tipped over last Sunday, throwing 
into the water Theodore Roosevelt Sherman, 
Harold Cabot Manning, and Joseph William 
Watson,—all Andover students. Unfortunately 
Manning could not swim, and a sad accident was 
averted only by the promptness of Watson, who, 
just as Manning was about to go down for the 
third time, reached his side, lifted him out, and 
threw him half-unconscious into the canoe. The 
application of restoratives by Sherman brought 
Manning back from the grave. It is expected that 
Watson will be awarded a Carnegie medal for 
bravery. 

With fierce execrations, Joe rushed over to 
Steve, who was sitting at his desk, and said, wav¬ 
ing the paper before his eyes, “ Look here, have 
you seen this? 

Of course. It’s a wonderful tribute to you, 
isn’t it? I remember now seeing you make the 
rescue, but I had forgotten about it.” 

By heck, Steve, I can stand just so much. If 
you start kidding me about that. I’ll dump you 
out of the window into that lilac-bush.” 

All right, Joe, you old warrior; but you can’t 
fight everybody that jollies you. Better take your 
medicine like a man. Grin, and don’t try to 
scrap over it.” 

I guess you’re right, as usual,” answered Joe, 


SCHOOL DIVERSIONS 227 

after a moment’s reflection, but I certainly 
would like to beat up some of these court jesters 
that can’t let a thing alone.” 

Joe certainly had plenty of burdens to bear. 
When he went to dinner that evening, his path 
was a triumphal progress. Fellows whom he had 
never spoken to came up and congratulated him, 
many of them having taken the article quite seri¬ 
ously. His intimate friends grinned sardonically, 
and occasionally asked, “ How’s the champion 
diver to-night? ” or similar idiotic questions. Joe 
only smiled blandly back, as if he had no interest 
in the matter; as a consequence of his good na¬ 
ture, the affair blew over in a very few days and 
he was left in comparative peace. 

It was during this spring that Steve first became 
really acquainted with Shylock ” Renfrew, one 
of the most original of his classmates. Renfrew 
was a short, stocky, freckled figure, not at all at¬ 
tractive personally and very quiet in his conduct. 
He had features like those of a fox, and his eyes 
were sly and shifty. He invariably took an in¬ 
conspicuous position in the classroom, and regu¬ 
larly just got by ” in his work. He never 
flunked ” a course; on the other hand, he 
considered it a waste of effort to get more than 


228 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

the necessary D which put him over the 
line. 

Shylock was a natural financial genius. When 
he came to Andover, he told Steve, he had exactly 
seven cents in his pocket. A generous patron had 
given him just the sum needed to take him to 
the school from his home in New Jersey. Once 
arrived on the ground, he was quite capable of 
handling himself. Having secured his room and 
a position as waiter in one of the boarding-houses, 
he started out on his speculative career. He es¬ 
tablished a shoe-shining parlor ” in his dormi¬ 
tory; he became a broker for English themes, buy¬ 
ing and selling them at a reasonable rate; he be¬ 
came the agent for a laundry hitherto unknown 
and succeeded in acquiring for it most of the trade 
on the Hill. As a lower middler, he devised a 
scheme by which each student, on leaving the 
swimming pool, received, for a small sum paid 
each term, a towel and a cake of soap, neatly done 
up in a little bundle; and before long he had a 
small group of subordinates managing the system 
and paying him a considerable royalty. 

When Steve came to know Shylock, the latter 
was a plutocrat. From his room in Day Hall, he 
directed the energies of his lieutenants, making 


SCHOOL DIVERSIONS 


229 


them perform the labor while he reaped the re¬ 
ward. He had a monopoly, for instance, on the 
candy trade of the undergraduates, and could 
force out any outsider trying to poach on his pre¬ 
serves. His latest scheme was the establishment 
of a kind of loan office, where impecunious stu¬ 
dents could borrow small sums at ruinous rates 
of interest. In this capacity he conducted busi¬ 
ness for some weeks. Eventually, however, the 
Head became suspicious and summoned him to 
the office. A little cross-questioning soon revealed 
the state of affairs, and the Head kindly but 
firmly ordered Shylock to move on.’’ You’re 
just a bit too wise for us, Renfrew,” said the 
Head, in passing sentence. A school isn’t a 
commercial institution. You belong on the Stock 
Exchange or in the oil business. We haven’t 
enough opportunities for you here in Andover. 
Some day you will probably be a millionaire and 
will be glad to build us a library or a chemical 
laboratory; but at this moment your genius needs 
other outlets. I shall watch your career with in¬ 
terest to see whether you land in jail or in the 
Union League Club.” 

Shylock naturally posed as a much-abused citi¬ 
zen, and complained to Steve of his treatment. 


230 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


I haven’t done a thing to hurt anybody. Why, 
I’ve helped a whole lot of fellows out when they 
needed a little money and couldn’t get it any¬ 
where else. And I have never broken a single 
school regulation.” 

^^Yes, I don’t know what the school is going 
to do without you, Shy lock. You’ve been a public 
benefactor. I don’t suppose you’ve grown poor 
over it, either.” 

I guess not,” responded Renfrew compla¬ 
cently. “ I’ve put away over two thousand dol¬ 
lars this year in the bank, already. That’s good' 
business.” 

It’s going to be a little hard to find another 
place where there are as good pickings as there 
are here, isn’t it? ” 

Oh, no. I’ll go now to a tutoring school and 
make Yale in the fall. I can work my way 
through there, all right. I’ve got all sorts of plans 
in my head.” 

“ Well, I’m glad I don’t owe you any money.” 

Do you know, you’re almost the only one in 
the ^ dorm ’ that doesn’t. Don’t you want to col¬ 
lect my loans for me, for a commission of ten per 
cent.? ” 

“ I don’t think I’d be a success in high finance. 


SCHOOL DIVERSIONS 231 


Shylock. You’ll have to find somebody without a 
conscience.” 

Two days later Shylock had departed, not, how¬ 
ever, without having sold his control of his 
various monopolies and having harried his debtors 
until they paid up. He did make Yale at the 
end of the summer, and left college with a sub¬ 
stantial bank account. His last address was a 
small town in the oil fields of Oklahoma. 

Spring term always moves rapidly. With games 
on Wednesday and Saturday, there is always 
something going on for spectator and player. 
Some fellows played tennis; there was a large 
squad in baseball; and a whole army of men 
seemed to be out for track athletics. The track 
meet, held at Exeter, was, however, a defeat for 
Andover, and the Andover rooters returned de¬ 
jected. Coach Shepley was undeniably one of the 
very best in the country, but he had poor ma¬ 
terial, and it takes time to make runners and’ 
weight men out of novices. Once again Joe 
proved to be the most important point-winner, 
taking first in the hammer-throw and the shot- 
put, and second in the javelin-throw. But one 
man cannot do it all, as even he had to admit. 

So far as sports go, then, everything centered 


232 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


around the nine. The team itself was not strong, 
and nothing seemed to give it unity. Again and 
again a game apparently won would be thrown 
away by ludicrous errors. In one contest a 
catcher’s throw over the third baseman’s head 
brought in three runs for the opponents and lost 
the match for Andover. Steve, who pitched most 
of the preliminary games, felt himself improving 
and occasionally showed brilliancy, but he some¬ 
times found himself so nervous that he could 
hardly throw a ball straight. There was some¬ 
thing the matter with the psychology of the 
players, and no one seemed able to diagnose it. 

On the morning of the eventful day, Coach 
Davis called Steve over to his room for a talk. 

See here,” he said, I’m going to put you in 
right at the beginning of the game. You aren’t 
as brilliant as Duke Evans, but you’re much 
steadier. Remember, this is your first real test. 
The one thing that is vital is to keep your head. 
No matter what happens, no matter how things 
seem to be going wrong, be cool. If you can do 
this, we may win. But I’m going to be honest 
with you and say that it all depends on the kind 
of confidence that you can inspire in those boys.” 

I’ll do my best,” replied Steve laconically. 


SCHOOL DIVERSIONS 233 


‘‘ That’s all any one can ask. Go to it.” 

Nothing more was said. When Steve stepped 
out on the diamond that afternoon and faced the 
great throng of spectators, he had no instructions 
whatever beyond what the coach had told him. 
Concealing his nervousness under an outward 
serenity, he tried his best to maintain an easy 
manner, as Bo Swift had taught him to do. The 
Exeter team, however, was made up of seasoned 
veterans, who were not to be frightened by ap¬ 
pearances. They were burning, moreover, to 
avenge the slaughter of the preceding year. 

The battle which followed is one which those 
who saw it will never forget. The sky was cloud¬ 
less, and the light breeze which occasionally 
floated across the playing fields was just enough 
to cool the air. Conditions were perfect for a 
great game. Just as the chimes from the Tower 
rang out two o’clock, Steve pitched the first ball; 
Swede Larsen, the Exeter batter, hit it to right 
field for a perfect single. Never was a game begun 
more unfortunately for Andover. Swede ran 
down to second, to the accompaniment of a wild 
throw from Van Jackson, the Andover catcher, 
who was obviously excited. The second man up, 
“ Stew ” Berrill, swung twice at the ball, and then 


234 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


knocked a grounder to second base, which was so 
sluggishly fielded that he managed to reach first 
safely. Two men on bases,—one of them on 
third,—and nobody out! Did ever a pitcher have 
to face such odds? Stew ran down to second on 
the next ball thrown. The third batter, Ducky 
Pond, was a famous hitter. 

As he faced Pond, Steve could hear the roar 
from the Exeter stands, sounding like the cries of 
the Roman populace in the Coliseum, demanding 
a sacrifice. He could see Coach Davis on the 
bench, chewing viciously at a blade of grass but 
otherwise making no sign. Steve’s mind was not 
abnormally active; but over and over again in 
his head were running the words, Keep cool! ” 
which he recited as a disciple of Coue reiterates 
his well-known formula. The next ball was a 
foul, well to the left of third base. Then came a 
wild swing by Ducky at a beautiful out-drop. 
Two and one! Steve cunningly moulded the ball 
in his hands and then, with a strange twist which 
he had never experimented with before in an 
important game, threw an upshoot. It caught 
Ducky unprepared. He hesitated, let it fly by, 
and the umpire shouted,’Striker out! ” 

The Andover stands now did their part to 


SCHOOL DIVERSIONS 235 


encourage Steve. He caught the echoes of the 
'' long yell/' with his name “ on the end." But 
he never glanced away from the diamond. His 
mind for the moment was concentrated on just 
one thing. He knew the next batter, “ Sid" 
Freeman, very well indeed, and felt that he could 
out-guess him. A slow out-drop tempted Sid, 
who lunged helplessly at it. Then he waited 
while what was apparently a very high ball took 
a sudden downward jump to below his shoulders 
and was called a strike. Steve, who had his plan 
well conceived, next sent a swift straight one 
directly over the plate, and Sid, expecting another 
curve, once more waited; the ominous words rang 
out: “Strike three!" Two men gone! Now, 
thought Steve, a long fly will not let in a run. 
As he was winding up for the next throw, he saw 
a figure make a quick spring from third on to 
home. With a rapid motion, he threw the ball 
wide to the catcher, and the runner. Swede Larsen, 
was caught between two enemies. It was only a 
question of time before he was touched, and the 
inning was over. Steve attempted to conceal his 
sigh of relief. It was nothing to him that the 
stands were wildly shouting his name, and that 
his teammates were patting him on the back. All 


236 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


that he wanted was to rinse out his dry throat 
and then get seated by the Coach, where he could 
listen to his advice. He realized that he had 
escaped as by a miracle, and that he might not 
always be so lucky. 

So the game went on. Andover was unable to 
score, and Exeter got men on bases again and 
again, only to have Steve tighten and strike out 
the next batters. The spectators were on edge 
every second, wondering what new thrill would 
come. And thrills did come, one after the other, 
until excitable Mr. Gordon, the Andover Pro¬ 
fessor of Chemistry, got up, saying to his com¬ 
panions, I can’t stand this any longer. If it 
keeps up this way. I’ll have a stroke. You’ll find 
me in the car after the game.” 

Inning after inning passed by, and the “ lucky 
seventh ” arrived. Once again Steve, with only 
one man gone and two on bases, struck out the 
next two batters. Then Andover came to bat, 
and the school, stimulated by the cheer-leaders, 
rose for a rally. The first man up was tall Van 
Jackson, the aggressive Andover catcher, who, 
having fanned ” twice before, was now eager 
to redeem himself. This time he waited patiently 
until two balls had been called, and then smote 


SCHOOL DIVERSIONS 237 


the next one for a long fly along the third-base 
line. He easily reached second base, and Andover 
now had her first real opportunity for scoring. 
Pa McCormick, the next batter, sent a hard 
grounder to the first baseman, who fumbled it 
for a second, thus allowing,Van to make third. 
Steve was next on the list. We shall not attempt 
to analyze his sensations as he stood facing the 
pitcher, realizing that the fate of the game might 
depend on what he did. Intuitively he waited 
while the first ball shot by; but it was an in¬ 
shoot,—a perfect strike. The Exeter stands 
howled derisively. Then, in quick succession, 
came two balls.’^ Good eye, Steve! shouted 
the Andover contingent. The next one Steve 
diagnosed as a drop. When he saw that it was 
coming straight for the plate, he gripped his bat 
and struck. He felt the resulting crash, and, as 
he had been taught, put his head down and ran 
for first, without even looking to see where the 
ball had gone. He heard a tremendous roar of 
sound, but did not dare to glance around until he 
heard the coach at first say, Hold up! Hold 
up! ’’ Then he glanced around to see that Van 
had just crossed home plate well ahead of the 
ball. Steve had hit a liner over the short-stop’s 


238 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

head, and even slow-moving Van had managed to 
score. 

What happened after that was hazy in Stevens 
mind. He watched the next two Andover men 
strike out, leaving him on first. He knew that, 
when he took his place once in the box, the school 
was standing up, cheering as one unit for their 
pitcher. For a moment he felt a touch of the old 
nervousness. And then there came to him the 
feeling that the team could not lose. Once in the 
lead, they acquired a kind of confidence which 
is the natural product of success. The Andover 
short-stop made a one-hand catch which thrilled 
the bleachers. Bill Jones, in center field, seized a 
long fly which looked as if it might be good for 
three bases. They played as if inspired. So also 
in the final inning, Steve distinguished himself. A 
high foul ball near first was easily captured. Then 
a grounder, beautifully fielded by the third-base¬ 
man, accounted for a second opponent. The next 
man was Steve’s old friend. Swede, who had made' 
Exeter’s first hit in the game. Remembering that 
hit, Steve studied Swede with particular care, and 
had a second’s conference with Van Jackson. 
Then he wound up slowly and threw. It was a 
high ball, but directly over the plate, and Swede 


SCHOOL DIVERSIONS 


239 


swung viciously at it. ''One strike!'' Swede 
then struck with fury at the next offering, which 
ended as a wide out-drop, quite beyond his reach. 
The next ball was of the underhand variety. 
Once more Swede used all his might in trying to 
knock a home-run, but he missed the ball by 
inches. The game was over. 

The one thought in Steve’s mind as he evaded 
those who tried to hoist him on their shoulders 
and ran off to the Gymnasium was that he had 
made amends to the school for his conduct during 
the football season. He had won his own baseball 
game,—an achievement seldom accorded even to 
the best of pitchers. Nothing touched him more 
than when the coach, in the locker room, came up, 
shook him by the hand, and said, " Steve, that 
was a perfect game. I never saw better courage 
anywhere than you showed in critical moments.” 
As a matter of fact, Steve could hardly believe it 
when he was told that he had struck out seven¬ 
teen Exeter men. 

The demonstration that evening was naturally 
unusually vociferous, for it was the first one of 
the year. The new boys had never seen a cele¬ 
bration, and they were full of joy in the event. 
With the accustomed ceremonies the coach and 


240 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

the nine were drawn through the streets by a mob 
of preps,” the lighted torches waving above their 
heads. The same old speeches were made and 
greeted with the same old fervor, in accordance 
with the spirit of school traditions. Steve was 
slightly bored by the proceedings, and wondered 
what could be the cause. For one thing, he was 
really tired after the long period of continuous 
training, with the strain of the game at the end. 
Besides, he was more sophisticated than he had 
been a year before, and consequently rather more 
critical. However, he made his little speech at 
the fire dutifully, saying, Fellows, we owe this 
victory to our wonderful coach, and to the mar¬ 
vellous way in which the school stood behind us. 
I certainly am glad that we came through. Wefil 
try to do it again next year, and I hope that Ill 
be here to help.” 

Everybody else who spoke referred to Stevens 
remarkable pitching and gave him the credit for 
the victory. The Head, talking at his house to 
the paraders, had said, In all my thirty years’ 
experience in baseball I never saw a pitcher pull 
himself out of so many difficult holes. Steve 
Fisher is the one solely responsible for winning this 
game.” On the following Monday, Steve was 


SCHOOL DIVERSIONS 241 

unanimously chosen captain of the nine for the 
next season. 

''//"oo-ray/’ shouted Joe, when he saw him an 
hour later. “ Gee, that’s bully. The Fighting 
Four are sure proud of you, Steve.” 

“Why, here’s the school hero! ” cried the al¬ 
ways satiric Ted, as he caught sight of Steve. 

“ Say, young fellow,” spoke up Steve, “ if you 
don’t shut up. I’ll just toss you straight out the 
window.” 

“ All right, Hercules,” responded Ted, with as¬ 
sumed humility and fear. “ But you wouldn’t 
strike a man smaller than yourself, would you 
now? ” 

“ You bet I would, Cupid,” answered Steve. 
“ And mash him to a jelly. I’m a bad man to¬ 
day.” 

Just then in came Hal. 

“ Hello,” he began. “ Why, if here isn’t our 
little hero-” 

He had barely reached this point when Steve 
was upon him, and the rough-house had begun. 
Steve pinioned Hal’s arms until the latter howled 
for mercy. 

“ Now,” asked Steve, “ will you keep still? ” 

“ Yes, yes, ye-” gurgled Hal, hardly able to 




242 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


get a syllable out. Let me up, you big lummox. 
I’ll be good.” 

“ Am I a hero? ” insisted Steve. 

“ No, no, no,” responded Hal. I should say 
not. You aren’t, and you never will be.” 

All right. Get up.” 

Hal rose and brushed his clothes. Say, you’ve 
got a mean arm. You ought to go on the stage 
as a strong man.” 

What’s that? ” asked Steve, making a mock 
threatening gesture. 

Help! Help! I didn’t mean anything,” pro¬ 
tested Hal. 

After that, Steve was left alone, untroubled by 
the compliments of his friends. 


X 


IN THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 

I 

Phillips and Bartlet Halls are the oldest dor¬ 
mitories on Andover Hill. Built originally for 
the use of students in the once powerful Theo¬ 
logical Seminary, they have been standing for 
more than a century. Their location is so con¬ 
venient and their rooms are so large and comfort¬ 
able that they have become very popular with 
seniors; and it was in Bartlet that Steve, Joe, and 
Ted had arranged to have a suite of rooms to¬ 
gether on the second floor during their Senior year. 
Hal had planned to live in Phillips, where, as he 
said, he could be away from the confounded den 
of noise ’’ which Steve and Joe seemed always to 
gather about them. 

When Steve stepped into his new quarters on 
Tuesday afternoon of the first week, he found Joe 
already there with a crowd of friends about him, 
stalking around like a giant in the midst of 
pigmies. 

“Hi, Jumbo,” he shouted, as he crossed the 
threshold. 


243 


244 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

'' Oh, there you are,’’ exclaimed Joe joyfully, 
nearly knocking down two or three lesser men in 
his rush to get to Steve and shake his hand. 
“ How’s your muscle? ” 

Good enough, I guess. You don’t look as if 

« 

you had been fading away, either.” 

No, I’m too fat,” complained Joe. “ The fam¬ 
ily made me go up in the country with them, and 
all I could do for exercise was to play golf and 
fish. Feel of that arm.” And he elevated a 
mighty mass of flesh and sinew for Steve’s in¬ 
spection. 

Oh, that’s all right,” said Steve encourag¬ 
ingly. Fred Davis will have that off inside of 
two weeks.” 

Just then Ted appeared, looking thinner after 
an operation for appendicitis, but with his spirits 
as high as usual. Hal did not come in until right 
after dinner, having motored out from Boston. 
He was considerably tanned, but his Harvard ac¬ 
cent was evidently unmodified. As the four sat 
talking during the evening, it seemed as if a good 
part of the Senior Class found their way to that 
room. It was quite evident that Steve and Joe 
were to be leaders, and their opinions were ac¬ 
cepted on most subjects. In American schools it 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 245 

is usually the athlete who is most respected by 
his mates. Skill in games is a kind of ability 
which every boy can appreciate and admire. A 
quick, clever lad like Ted Sherman could exert 
some influence and his election as football man¬ 
ager had made him a conspicuous figure in school. 
Everybody liked him, but there was a feeling that 
Joe and Steve were more reliable. The truth is 
that Ted was an inveterate politician. He had a 
smile ready to greet each newcomer and his 
shrewd eyes were watching every turn of events. 
He could be seen in corners, discussing school 
politics with prominent society men and arrang¬ 
ing slates for the fall elections. More than once, 
too, he gained his ends by using either Joe or 
Steve as a stalking-horse and inducing them to 
support plans which he himself had concocted. 
Hardly a day went by without a new scheme from 
Ted, destined to affect the future of the school 
and, in his eyes, that of the nation. 

The three roommates were finding their quar¬ 
ters exceedingly pleasant, and were looking for¬ 
ward to a delightful term when all their expecta¬ 
tions were apparently blighted. Two or three 
days after school began, it happened that Steve 
was sauntering up the Elm Arch rather vaguely 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


246 

conscious of the beauty around him and was 
halted by the Head. 

Good-morning, Steve,he said, shaking his 
hand. I’m glad to see you back in such good 
condition. I imagine that you’re going to play 
some fine football this season.” 

I don’t know how that will be, sir,” answered 
Steve modestly. Besides I may not be able to 
play. Don’t you remember what happened a year 
ago? ” 

Yes, I do, but, if you’ll let me say so, you’ve 
grown up a bit since then. By the way, can’t you 
drop in for a moment at my house to-night? 
There’s a little matter I want to see you about.” 

I’ll be glad to, sir,” answered Steve, a little 
amazed at receiving a casual invitation like this 
from the Head. Steve had not yet fully compre¬ 
hended how important he was looked upon as 
being in school affairs. Nor was he as yet aware 
of the extent to which the Head studied his boys, 
and kept in touch with their views. 

That evening Steve, adorned for once with a 
white stiff collar and a rather newer necktie than 
usual, rang the bell at the Head’s house, not with¬ 
out a good deal of trepidation. All his anxiety 
quickly vanished, however, with the gracious re- 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 247 

ception which was accorded him. For a few min¬ 
utes the two chatted about school affairs, the 
Head showing what to Steve was an astounding 
knowledge of what was going on in the student 
body. They discussed football prospects, possi¬ 
bilities as school leaders, conditions in the dormi¬ 
tories, and other interesting topics; then the Head 
brought the conversation around to his real busi¬ 
ness. 

Steve, I’d rather like to put a real job up to 
you,—something that I wouldn’t ask another fel¬ 
low in school to do. Do you remember Thorn¬ 
dike Hamlin last year? ” 

Who, the little shrimp with the old clothes 
and long hair? ” 

Yes, that’s the boy. He’s the son of an old 
friend of mine, and he didn’t do very well last 
year.” 

I should say not. He was rather a bad egg, 
wasn’t he? He gambled a good deal and spent 
his time with a fast crowd. He never looked very 
healthy to me.” 

No, he didn’t get started right, somehow. But 
he has good stuff in him, I think, if he could only 
have a little help. How would you like to room 
with him? ” 


248 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

Room with Dyke Hamlin! What do you 
mean, sir? ’’ 

“ Just what I say, Steve. The boy’s back here 
again and wants to be readmitted. I can’t take 
him unless he’s going to be in good hands and go 
straight. Unless you’re willing to help. I’ll have 
to refuse to let him come back and I honestly 
rather hate to turn him down.” 

That’s a tough proposition, sir. I guess 
maybe you don’t know Dyke Hamlin. Besides 
that, I’m rooming in Bartlet now, with Joe Wat¬ 
son and Ted Sherman.” 

‘‘ Yes, I’ve heard that. But they don’t need 
you and Dyke does. If you’re willing, I can give 
you a double room on the top floor, and you can 
take Dyke in with you there. That’ll leave Joe 
and Ted by themselves on the second floor, where 
you can see them as often as you like. But don’t 
decide now. I can let you have until to-morrow 
morning to think it over.” 

“ Oh, no, sir. If you want me to do it, I will. 
It was just a bit sudden, that’s all. I don’t be¬ 
lieve I should ever have thought of it myself.” 

I imagine not,” said the Head, with an amused 
air. And now don’t think that I want you to 
preach to this chap. All you need to do is be a 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 249 


bit friendly to him. I suspect hell do the rest 
himself.^^ 

All right, Ill try it.’’ 

Good! And now tell me something about 
that hunting trip you took this summer.” And 
in a few minutes Steve was telling the Head all 
about his adventure with a big grizzly in the 
Rockies. 

As they stepped to the door half an hour later, 
the Head said, “ I’ll tell young Hamlin to-morrow 
morning, and he can come to see you. You can 
move your things up whenever you like. Much 
obliged, Steve. I can’t tell you how much I ap¬ 
preciate your helping me out.” 

Steve was in no very pleasant mood as he 
walked across the campus to his room. Live with 
Dyke Hamlin! He remembered him as a thin, 
untidy-looking boy, with a pimply face and a fur¬ 
tive look around the eyes, as if he knew himself 
guilty of mean things. How could he possibly 
get along with a rat of that species? He was cer¬ 
tainly in for a poor year. When he reached his 
room, however, he made an effort to conceal his 
emotions. 

“Back again, Steve? Have a good time?” 
asked Joe. 


250 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

Yes, pretty good” 

''What's the matter? Somebody steal your 
pocketbook? " 

"No. It's just that I'm going to leave you 
and Ted, and move up to the top floor." 

" Good Heavens, what have we done? " inquired 
Ted. 

" Nothing. Not a thing. It's just that the 
Head wants me to room with Dyke Hamlin." 

" Dyke Hamlin. That tin-horn sport who lived 
down in Draper last year and used to go over to 
Lawrence every night? " 

" That's the fellow. You've got him sized up 
right." 

" But, Steve-" 

" Yes, I know all you’re going to say, and I 
don't blame you. I'm not doing it because I 
want to. It's just because the Head asked me.” 

" Well, I must say that you're an easy mark. 
What are we going to do? " 

" Do? Go right along as if it had never hap¬ 
pened. I'll be down here often enough; don't 
worry." 

Now that the news was broken, Steve felt a 
little easier, but he had some unhappy wakeful 
hours that night wondering how it would all turn 



IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 251 

out. All his instincts revolted against living in 
the same room with any one with a reputation 
like that of Dyke Hamlin. Finally he consoled 
himself with the thought that Dyke would prob¬ 
ably be fired inside of a month, and the cheerful¬ 
ness of this idea sent him off to sleep. 

Sure enough, directly after chapel Dyke came 
up to him and said in his fresh way, Hello, Steve. 
The Head says I’m going to be put in with you. 
I’m the Prodigal Son just returned, see. We’ll 
have some high larks, all right. I guess he thinks 
you’ll hold me down, but-” 

Say, wait a minute, will you? If you’re going 
to room with me, remember I’m not going to have 
any rough stuff. If you think I’m going to let 
you play any of your dirty games, you’re mis¬ 
taken.” 

“ All right, old man.” Steve shuddered as the 
phrase of comradeship slipped out. 

We might as well go up to the room now,” 
suggested Steve, and see what we can do to fix 
it up.” 

I’m ready,” replied Dyke. And so the two 
went over to Bartlet and up to the front room on 
the top floor, which had been assigned to them. 

Dyke had his trunks all open on the floor and 



252 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

started to unpack at once. First of all, he un¬ 
covered a huge photograph of a musical comedy 
singer, clothed for the ballet. 

Some picture, eh, Steve? Look at it. I guess 
she'll decorate the room, all right. I've got about 
a dozen just like that." 

Steve took a look at this work of art, and then, 
disgusted, turned to Dyke. Let me tell you 
right now, that picture is never going to hang 
here. You're a fine sporting character, you are. 
You can either burn it or sell it, but it won’t be 
put in this room." 

“ What's the matter, Steve? Going to pose as 
the virtuous youth? " 

Yes, I am, and you’re going to follow me. 
You can take that daub, and any more that you’ve 
got in your trunk, and sell the whole lot to the 
junkman. This is no harem." 

Say, Steve-" 

Oh, shut up, will you? " said Steve, his pa¬ 
tience nearly exhausted. I mean exactly what I 
say. If you don't get rid of that right off. I’ll burn 
it up." 

All right. All right. Don't get huffy about 
it. I didn't know you were such a Sunday-school 
leader." 



IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 253 


You’ll find out in a hurry just what kind of 
a Sunday-school leader I am. The right sort of 
fellows in this place haven’t any use for things of 
your type, and you might as well learn it now as 
later.” 

That particular incident was closed. But Steve 
soon found that Dyke was fully equipped with 
dice, poker chips, and other instruments of de¬ 
pravity. When they were fully settled. Dyke one 
evening reached in his desk, brought out two 
enormous dice, and said: 

Want to roll the bones, Steve? I’ll shoot you 
for a dime.” 

This time Steve was thoroughly hot. Reach¬ 
ing over, he caught the unsuspecting Dyke by the 
neck and threw him on the rug. Now, you 
young reprobate, give me those dice.” 

Dyke, for once really alarmed, tried to mutter 
something, but could not get his breath. Steve 
took the dice from his unresisting hand and threw 
them in the wood fire. Then he let Dyke up. 

“You nearly strangled me. I can’t breathe,” 
he whined. 

“ You’ll breathe all right. Fellows of your kind 
don’t die so easily. Sit down there and let me 
tell you something.” Steve pointed to a chair. 


254 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


Now last year, when you roomed in Draper, 
you could do exactly what you pleased. It was 
none of my business whether you were a fool or 
not. But now you’re my roommate, and you’ve 
got to obey the rules. I don’t gamble here, and 
you’re not going to. If I find you shooting dice 
or playing poker around here, I’ll beat you within 
an inch of your worthless life. Furthermore, I’ll 
hand you some sound advice. There’s nothing 
wrong about smoking for anybody who can stand 
it. But look at yourself. Look at your skinny 
body and little muscles. You’re a poor, miserable 
invalid, without any strength at all. Why don’t 
you brace up and be a man? I’ll help you if 
you’ll work at it, but I’m not going to let this 
room become a hangout for all the worthless dubs 
in school.” 

Say, you’re strong,” answered Dyke, rather 
irrelevantly. I can feel your clutch yet. I didn’t 
realize that you felt that way about dice. I was 
just amusing myself. If you don’t like it, I’d 
just as soon stop playing.” 

You’ll stop, all right,” was Steve’s grim reply. 

See here, why don’t you swear off smoking and 
gambling for a while and try to make a man of 
yourself? ” 



“WHy don’t you brace up and be a man ?’’— Pa/ye 25-7 











IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 255 

Maybe I will turn over a new leaf/^ responded 
Dyke, ‘‘ if you’ll just let me alone.” 

From that moment Steve was master of the 
situation. Dyke gradually became his abject fol¬ 
lower, always ready to do his will. One morning 
when Steve jumped out of bed to go through some 
exercises with which he always began the day, 
Dyke turned over and said, Say, Steve, do you 
suppose those motions would do me any good? ” 

Of course, if you would keep at them and 
stop eating so much candy.” 

I’m going to give them a try,” answered Dyke. 

From that morning on Number 28, Bartlet, pre¬ 
sented the strange spectacle of one extremely mus¬ 
cular and energetic youth and one emaciated and 
languid youngster going through contortions to¬ 
gether. Following Steve’s example. Dyke even 
adopted the habit of plunging into a cold bath,— 
an act of heroism which he had never before at¬ 
tempted. Little by little, he became neater in 
his dress. He managed to shave every other day, 
and his hands were visibly cleaner. 

‘‘ That young cub of yours is sprucing up a bit, 
isn’t he? ” asked Joe, one morning along in De¬ 
cember. 

" I should say he was. He’ll be a regular he- 


256 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

man before I get through with him. Ill bet he’s 
put three inches on his biceps in a month.” 

“ Humph! I can see him playing halfback on 
the eleven, can’t you? ” 

That’s all right, talk away. But his build 
isn’t half bad. Give him a year and he’ll be able 
to toss you over his shoulder.” 

If he ever does, you ought to get a leather 
medal as his trainer.” 

Early in the fall, Steve, Joe, and Ted had all 
been made members of the Senior Council, a little 
group of seven representative fellows who virtu¬ 
ally directed the affairs of the school so far as 
undergraduate sentiment was concerned. From 
time to time they met with the Head to talk over 
problems, and they often, with his permission, 
took the discipline in minor matters into their 
own hands. Steve had been elected President of 
the Senior Class, and, when the Council met, he 
was also chosen Chairman of that body. Natu¬ 
rally his position among the students was decidedly 
a prominent one. When it was noised around 
that he was rooming with Dyke Hamlin, there 
was no small amount of gossip about the matter, 
but it soon died down, and soon every one ac¬ 
cepted the situation as a fact. Steve himself said 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 257 

nothing whatever about the arrangement, but let 
his friends make their own inferences. 

Just after Thanksgiving, Joe came up to Steve's 
room before dinner and said, “ Steve, the Head 
has sent over asking us to come to a Senior Coun¬ 
cil meeting right after dinner. Better put on a 
clean shirt." As soon as they had finished eating, 
the two went directly to the Head's house, where 
they were soon joined by Larry Williams, the 
Baseball Manager, Ed Green, Bart Hayes, and 
Jimmy Gould, all of them looking very solemn. 
“ Must be something up," whispered Bart, as 
they filed into the library. The Head was as 
genial as usual, greeted them warmly, and pro¬ 
vided comfortable chairs. 

Boys, I've got a nasty job for you," he said, 
without any preliminaries, as they settled down 
in their chairs. ^ Ikey' Rosenburg, the tailor 
from New York who has been coming here for 
fifteen years, has just been in to tell me that a 
mob of fellows went into his place this afternoon, 
got him in a corner on some pretext, and then 
walked off with about thirty sweaters and vests. 
So far as I can find out, each fellow stuffed some¬ 
thing under his coat and went out. Now this is 
pretty serious. Of course it's a criminal offense, 


258 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


and any fellow who is caught can be put in jail 
if Ikey wants it done. It’s just plain thievery. 
I know that the boys did it for fun, and probably 
didn’t stop to think what they were doing, but 
it’s no joke for the school. Now can you handle 
it yourselves, or shall I have to take it up? ” 

“ I think we can manage it, sir,” replied Steve, 
in behalf of himself and his colleagues. ‘‘ Can 
you give us two days to straighten it out? ” 

Certainly. Only I want all the culprits caught 
and made to return what they have taken. Then 
I can take up the matter of their punishment with 
the faculty.” 

We’ll catch them all right, sir,” said Jimmy 
Gould. Then the seven members left and gath¬ 
ered in Joe’s room for consultation. After an 
hour or two of debate, they finally produced what 
seemed to be a workable plan, and Steve went up¬ 
stairs. As he entered his room, he noticed that 
Dyke was attired in a brand-new, gorgeously col¬ 
ored sweater, so brilliant that it was the most 
conspicuous object in sight. 

Hi, Dyke, where did you get the decoration? ” 

Oh, this sweater? It just came to-day. How 
do you like it? ” 

Well, everybody will know when you’re 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 259 

around/' answered Steve, noncommittally. You 
won’t be any shrinking soul. Where did you buy 
it?” 

^‘Oh, I got it this afternoon,” replied Dyke, 
manifestly unwilling to name the source. Steve 
did not wish to push the matter then, but, as he 
crawled into bed, he was convinced that Dyke had 
stolen the sweater at Rosenburg’s, and his disap¬ 
pointment was keen. It was exactly the kind of 
an act which Dyke would have rejoiced in the 
year before, but Steve had believed him capable 
of better things. Now he was reluctantly forced 
to admit that Dyke’s reformation had been only 
skin-deep. 

After chapel the next morning, when the faculty 
and visitors had left the church, Steve, as Presi¬ 
dent of the school, stepped to the front and made 
his first long speech in public: 

Fellows, there are some mighty mean skunks 
here in school. A bunch of them went down to 
Ikey Rosenburg’s place yesterday and took a lot 
of his stuff. Now we know a good many of the 
men who did it, and, unless the goods are brought 
back immediately, there’ll be trouble. I want 
every single article that was taken handed in at 
Joe Watson’s room. Number 3, Bartlet, before 


260 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


eight o’clock to-night. Any one who doesn’t do 
this will have to take the consequences. That’s 
all I have to say now; but I am sure that the 
opinion of all decent men in school will back up 
what the Senior Council has done.” 

All day long boys were knocking at Joe’s door 
and sheepishly depositing their loot. By eight 
o’clock* nineteen fellows had handed in their 
names so that when the Council met, it had pre¬ 
sumably a complete list of culprits. They went 
over these names one by one, discussing each in¬ 
dividually. When this business was concluded, 
Joe said, I don’t see Dyke Hamlin’s name here.” 

No, he hasn’t been in to-day. Do you think 
he was mixed up in this mess? ” asked Bart Hayes. 

“ All I know is that he’s been wearing one of 
Rosenburg’s sweaters. I happened to see the label 
this afternoon. And Ikey told me that he didn’t 
buy any yesterday.” 

What about it, Steve? ” asked Bart. 

I don’t know, fellows, but I’ll soon find out 
if Dyke’s up-stairs,” and he rushed from the room. 

Hi, Steve,” said Dyke, innocently enough, as 
his chum entered. 

Hello,” responded Steve, curtly enough, for 
Dyke was wearing the gaudy garment in question, 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 261 


and his own temper was not very smooth. “ Say, 
Dyke, would you mind telling me where you got 
that sweater? 

“ This sweater? Why—why- 

“ Why donT you tell me? You stole that from 
Ikey, and now I know it.’’ 

I stole this sweater? You don’t mean to say 

that you think I-” ' 

“ It’s a Rosenburg sweater, isn’t it? Take it 
off.” Sure enough, there were the tell-tale words, 
Isaac Rosenburg, Clothier, New York City ” on 
a label just inside the neck. 

Dyke had grown as crimson as the rug on which 
he stood. He was visibly much embarrassed and 
could hardly stammer a syllable. Finally, regain¬ 
ing courage, he said in a manly tone, “ Steve, bad 
as I am, I didn’t suppose that you would suspect 
me of theft. This sweater was sent to me by a 
girl I know in New York who really thinks I’m a 
clean chap. I didn’t want you to hear anything 
about her until I had made a decent record. She 
must have bought it at Ikey’s store on Fifth 
Avenue.” 

Steve hesitated for a moment. Could this story 
possibly be true? And then he noticed that Dyke 
was looking him straight in the eye, that his voice 




262 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

no longer trembled, and that his whole bearing 
was that of an innocent person. Surely there was 
a transformation in this boy. Steve was certain 
that Dyke was telling the truth. 

“ Look here, Dyke, I’m sorry, and ashamed, too. 
I’ve been thinking all day that you were one of 
that wild bunch who raided Ikey’s place, and it 
has worried me nearly sick. I should have known, 
of course, that if you had been a big enough fool 
to do it, you would have owned up. I owe you 
an apology.” And he gripped the boy’s hand 
until the youngster winced. 

Next morning Ikey confirmed Steve’s judgment 
by admitting that every article had been returned, 
and he thanked the Council profusely for what 
had been done. At chapel, Steve announced that 
every fellow who had been implicated would have 
to apologize before the student body, or be forced 
to leave. One after one, the culprits stepped to 
the platform and mumbled their apologies. Two 
sturdy football linemen stood near by to check 
any levity. There were no smiles; everybody 
took the ceremony seriously; and it was decidedly 
impressive as a demonstration of what student 
government can do. When it was over, the Head 
spoke to Steve, Thanks very much, Fisher. 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 263 

YouVe done a good job. Now all that remains 
is for the faculty to have a final word.’’ 

Please don’t be too hard on them, sir. Most 
of them have been pretty well punished already, 
and I imagine have learned a lesson. By the way, 
I ought to tell you that I almost made a mistake 
about Dyke Hamlin.” And then Steve told the 
whole story. 

Isn’t that fine! ” exclaimed the Head. I 
certainly am glad to hear that he was out of it.” 

“ If he had two years more here, he would end 
by being a regular leader,” said Steve. And the 
Head could do nothing but smile. His experi¬ 
ment had been a great success. 

One event which always made a deep impres¬ 
sion on Steve was the observance of Armistice 
Day, on November 11. Too young himself to 
remember much of the World War, he had enough 
imagination to picture to himself what the school 
was like in those stirring days. He had read 
something of Andover’s part in the war, and liked 
to think that the school had been the first to send 
an Ambulance Unit overseas; that it had taken 
up military training while other institutions were 
still debating the question; and that the record 
of its sons was one of patriotic sacrifice. At chapel 


264 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

the Head always read the long list of the heroic 
dead, pausing for a moment over a name here and 
there to point out some particular exploit. He 
had known all the boys on the list, and spoke of 
them in a voice throbbing with emotion. Steve 
never failed after this ceremony to walk up close 
to the Memorial Tower to look again at those 
names carved in the stone,—Schuyler Lee, Jack 
Morris Wright, William Henry Taylor, Harold 
Eadie, and the others who had died so splendidly. 
They represented the very best the school had to 
give. 

All these events, each of which left its mark 
on Steve’s character, happened in the midst of 
the football season, when most of his energies 
were being spent on the playing fields. He took 
good care to keep up in his studies and avoid any 
such catastrophe as that which had once wrecked 
his hopes. But he had now systematized his work, 
and had found that, by concentration, he could 
accomplish more in one hour than he had formerly 
done in two. Under the circumstances he was 
not sorry that he had changed his room, for Joe 
and Ted had no compunctions about interrupting 
him, while he could squelch ” Dyke without any 
difiiculty. 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 265 


This year Steve had been started at halfback. 
Joe, as usual, was playing right guard, and the 
captain, Walt Bradford, was at end. In the 
earlier contests Steve had shown, in addition to 
his other qualities, some marked kicking ability, 
and the Coach, Fred Davis, had come to rely upon 
him for all the punting and goal kicking. Fur¬ 
thermore Steve was unquestionably the best 
ground-gainer on the eleven. He was stocky, 
weighing now about 180 pounds, and, with any 
kind of interference, he could be counted upon 
for a gain. 

The exhilaration of the final week of the foot¬ 
ball season can never be quite forgotten by an 
Andover man, especially if he happened to be on 
the eleven. The team had played through its 
difficult schedule without a defeat, having tied 
with the Harvard Freshmen and beaten Worces¬ 
ter, 7-0. The Exeter team had apparently 
been equally successful, and one of its men. 
Happy Luman, was reputed to be exceptionally 
speedy. Andover scouts brought back terrifying 
reports of his prowess, and he was heralded as a 
formidable personage. The Andover eleven, how¬ 
ever, was not likely to be over-confident with its 
Coach warning the men repeatedly against that 


266 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

fault. “An Exeter team is never beaten until 
the whistle blows. Remember that,” Fred Davis 
said at least three or four times every afternoon. 
So it was that the final few days found every 
player on edge, ready for the fray. 

Early that week there was a heavy snow-storm, 
such as sometimes comes in New England long 
before the appointed time. Saturday morning it 
was melting, and the field was covered with a kind 
of muddy slush, very wet and slippery, which 
made long runs and good kicks look impossible. 
As Steve made his way from class to class, he 
could see plainly that conditions were going to be 
very unfavorable for the game. However, neither 
side would suffer more than the other, except pos¬ 
sibly for the fact that Andover’s supposed superi¬ 
ority in kicking could not be displayed to ad¬ 
vantage. Steve did not concern himself unduly 
over the situation, but merely set his mind to 
work on the best method of getting through mud. 
Before he knew it, he was in the locker-room 
dressing for the game. When he emerged on the 
field, he found that the sun was shining once more, 
but that the surface had not improved. The ball 
quickly became heavy, and punts of any length 
were clearly impossible. 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 267 

The preliminary details were soon settled by 
the respective captains, and the Exeter eleven 
ran to their places to receive the kick-off. No 
matter how many contests a player may have 
been in, there is always for him a nervous second 
or two before the action starts. He usually re¬ 
lieves the tension, as Steve did, by running up 
and down a few yards each way and by shouting 
to those near by, ‘‘ Let’s go, Walt,” and Nail 
their man. Chuck.” At last the whistle blew. 
There was a little pause; then the ball, which was 
dry at the opening of the game, went high and 
far into the expectant arms of the redoubtable 
Happy Luman, who clutched it tightly and ran 
diagonally to the right, gaining speed as he went. 
But he had progressed only ten yards before Walt 
Bradford had dragged him down. In a moment 
the players were covered with mud and soaked 
with water. Everything was slippery, especially 
the pigskin, and fumbling might be expected on 
any play. 

After the first rush, Steve felt perfectly calm 
and cool. The run down the field had steadied 
his nerves, and he studied the formation of the 
opposing team with much care. He was playing 
back on the defense, where he could watch de- 


268 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

velopments. '' Smash! ” came a plunge through 
Andover’s right tackle, Bill Serat, but the line 
held like a stone wall and there was no gain. The 
Exeter fullback now took a position for a kick. 
Under the conditions, it was a beautiful punt, but 
Steve was placed just right to catch it. What he 
thought as the ball descended upon him can prob¬ 
ably never be told. What he did was to grip it 
tightly in his arms and start off, having first given 
a hasty glance to either side. Chuck Ellis, the 
Andover quarterback, was at hand to block the 
Exeter end, and Steve escaped another tackle by a 
sharp swerve of his body, which made him slip and 
almost fall. In a flash, however, he was up again, 
and off, but he could see that the delay had per¬ 
mitted the opposing tacklers to reach a point di¬ 
rectly in front of him. Ten, twenty, thirty, thirty- 
five yards he covered,—then he could continue no 
farther. Happy Luman dragged him down, but 
not before he had reached Exeter’s thirty-yard 
line, having run the ball back forty yards. It 
was a glorious achievement, which the stands 
were quick to recognize. The Andover cheer-lead¬ 
ers danced up and down, waving their arms in 
mad delight. Then came a sudden silence, for 
the teams were lining up again. Andover’s ball, 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 269 

with the coveted goal-line only a short distance 
away! 

Jack Hamilton, Andover^s left halfback, made 
three yards through guard. Then Steve fell back 
as if for a drop kick. He received the ball from 
center, held it a moment, and then hurled a per¬ 
fect forward pass to Walt Bradford, who was far 
to the left of the line. With nobody in front of 
him, Walt easily covered the distance for a touch¬ 
down. It was a beautifully coordinated exhibition 
of skilful strategy. Within two minutes of the 
opening of the battle, Andover had scored, and 
not by luck but through intelligent work. Steve 
kicked an easy placement for the extra point, and 
the score was seven to nothing. The tension in 
his mind was much relieved. 

It is always discouraging to a team when its 
opponents score readily early in the contest. Un¬ 
doubtedly Exeter must have felt this, for the re¬ 
mainder of the first half was decidedly in favor 
of Andover. Despite the mud, Steve repeatedly 
broke loose for gains of ten and fifteen yards 
around the ends. His punts, although they were 
low, seemed to roll incredible distances and were 
responsible for steady advances. When time was 
called for the half, Andover had made three touch- 


270 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

downs and was on her way to a fourth. The score 
was twenty to nothing. 

During the intermission the band played the 
favorite Andover songs, Old P. A.,’^ The Royal 
Blue,” and ‘‘ Andover Rah! ” while the spectators 
stood up and sang, kicking their feet to keep them 
warm. The Head had with him that day a dis¬ 
tinguished English novelist, Mr. Hugh Warren, 
who had come to lecture to the boys. The Brit¬ 
isher, who was an Eton and Cambridge man, was 
intensely interested in all that he saw and heard. 

I cannot understand,” he said, how your 
boys keep up their enthusiasm at such a heat for 
so many hours. Last night at the mass meeting 
they were like wild hyenas in the jungle; this 
morning in your chapel they shouted until I 
thought some of the smaller boys would break 
blood vessels; and now here they are, after an 
hour’s continuous yelling, apparently as fresh as 
when they started.” 

It’s really a kind of tradition,” answered the 
Head. “ Boys are naturally Tories at heart and 
like to maintain old customs. They hate to have 
anything like this abolished. When I was a stu¬ 
dent in Andover thirty years ago, they used to 
do exactly the same way. Anyway, our American 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 271 

boys are more nervous and highstrung than your 
British youngsters/’ • 

‘‘ That’s true enough. Look over there, for in¬ 
stance,” said Mr. Warren, pointing to where Dyke 
Hamlin was dancing up and down like a jumping- 
jack, his arms coming down like flails on the head 
of a fat boy in front of him and his face contorted 
with excitement. 

What, can that cannibal be Dyke Hamlin? ” 
The Head took another look, and then, with a 
sense of inward satisfaction, told the Englishman 
the story of Dyke and Steve. Even though it 
came between the halves of an Andover-Exeter 
game, the great author was much impressed by 
the story and looked eagerly at Steve when the 
Head pointed him out as he ran on the fleld for 
the second half. 

By Jove!” he ejaculated. ^‘That’s a real 
romance. Some day I should like to meet those 
boys.” 

I’ll have them in for dinner to-morrow,” re¬ 
sponded the Head, and then the attention of both 
was diverted by the game itself. 

The Exeter team returned to the field deter¬ 
mined to fight to the finish,—and fight they did, 
with a valiant courage which won the admiration 


272 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

of their adversaries. Again and again the backs 
hurled themselves at the Andover line, only to 
be thrown back for heavy losses. But Steve, on 
one of those inspired days which sometimes come 
to players, was a whole host of men in himself. 
Never had Brothers’ Field seen such running back 
of punts, such kicking, such progress through a 
broken field. Wet and heavy though the ball was, 
he never fumbled it, and he had an uncanny way 
of picking out the few dry spots on the gridiron. 
The Andover team made three more touchdowns, 
leaving the final score forty to nothing. It was 
not merely a defeat but a riot, and Steve had his 
* revenge for the game of the year before. 

It was a very happy youngster who lay down 
quietly on the bench in the Gymnasium and let 
the trainer rub his tired muscles. The reaction 
after the excitement of one of these gridiron bat¬ 
tles ought to be very severe, but Steve was in the 
pink of condition, and, after a plunge in the tank, 
he dressed and walked off with only a slight limp. 
Three or four of his teammates had bruises, but 
no one was seriously hurt. Andover and Exeter 
play hard games, but they are invariably clean, 
and it is seldom that any one is badly injured. 

Steve’s appearance on the campus was a kind 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 273 

of triumphal progress, which he tried unavailingly 
to avoid by taking a roundabout path to his 
boarding-house. Fortunately he was too sensible 
to be much spoiled by adulation. The praise of 
our fellows is grateful to all of us, I suppose, and 
Steve had his share of human weakness, but he 
was in no danger of becoming conceited. At the 
celebration in the evening he had to sit and listen 
while his greatness was sung by every one, from 
the Head down to the last substitute sent in dur¬ 
ing the final moment of play. When he walked 
back to Bartlet after it was all over, it whs with 
the echoes of A long Steve! Make it good now! 
Are you ready,—one, two, three! ringing in his 
ears. But his sleep, for all that, was dreamless, 
and, when he awoke the next morning, it was ten 
o^clock, and the sun was shining in through the 
windows. 

As Stevens biographer, I ought, I suppose, to 
regret the fact that he “ cut ” church that Sunday 
morning and spent the hour assigned to divine 
service in reading the accounts of the game in 
the Boston Sunday papers. But considering that 
most of them printed Stevens photograph and his 
name in big black letters at the top of the sport¬ 
ing page, I think that he can be forgiven. At any 


274 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


rate, Dyke Hamlin, who was now Steve’s faithful 
servitor, came in with an armful of Sunday edi¬ 
tions for Steve’s benefit and then ran off to church. 
An hour later he dashed in and shouted, “ Gee 
whiz, Steve, the Head wants us to have dinner 
with him this noon.” 

Why don’t you try me with an easy one? ” 
replied Steve, rather skeptical about the invita¬ 
tion. Are the President and his cabinet coming, 
too? ” 

That’s right, Steve. He came up to me before 
church and asked where you were. I told him 
you were tired out and had slept over, and then 
he wanted to know if we couldn’t both come to 
dinner at one o’clock. I told him that if you 
couldn’t, I would telephone; otherwise he’ll be ex¬ 
pecting us.” 

I don’t believe I’ve got a clean stiff collar. 
Well, I’ll have to make it somehow, I suppose.” 

There was the usual running about from room 
to room, hunting for articles of wearing apparel, 
but both boys finally managed to make them¬ 
selves presentable. At five minutes of one, Steve 
and Dyke, the latter looking ridiculously 
dressed-up ” in a serge suit and high collar, 
were ushered into the library where the Head 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 275 

stood talking with a tall aristocratic-looking 
stranger who was standing in front of the fire¬ 
place smoking a pipe. 

Hello, Steve. Hello, Dyke,’’ said the Head. 

I’m glad to see you. Boys, this is Mr. Hugh 
Warren, our English guest.” 

Good-morning, young gentlemen,” said Mr. 
Warren. I suppose we’re all of us a good deal 
embarrassed. I am, at any rate.” 

“ Why—why—I am a bit fussed,” Steve man¬ 
aged to answer, noticing the twinkle in Mr. War¬ 
ren’s eye. But I didn’t suppose a great man 
like you could ever be embarrassed.” 

“ Good for you, Steve,” interjected the Head. 

I never dreamed you were so much of a diplo¬ 
mat.” 

You’re certainly tactful, anyhow,” put in Mr. 
Warren. But, after reading the morning papers, 
I’m not sure that you aren’t the greatest man in 
New England. I know all about you. But how 
do you know anything about me? ” 

Everybody knows about you, sir. Besides, 
I’ve read four or five of your books. There’s one 
called ‘ Courage ’ which I shall never forget. It’s 
wonderful.” 

I’m certainly flattered,” said Mr. Warren. 




276 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


But we’ve paid each other enough compliments 
for a while. Let’s talk about the game.” 

For the next two hours, at the dinner itself and 
afterwards around the fire, the talk ran on games 
and on school life in general. Replying to Mr. 
Warren’s questions, Steve explained that football 
was not really so rough and dangerous as it 
looked. Of course you get some hard knocks 
once in a while,” he admitted, “ but, if you’re in 
condition, there’s little danger of getting hurt. 
I’ve played here three years, and have never had 
anything worse than a bruised Imee and a cut 
cheek. The fellows who are injured,—and there 
aren’t many of them,—are usually not in good 
training. Not a man on our team is laid up at 
all to-day.” 

Mr. Warren told the boys something of the 
English fagging ” system and also of the prac¬ 
tice of caning,” which, as both Steve and Dyke 
agreed, could never be introduced into American 
schools. 

But it certainly would do good in some cases,” 
remarked the Head. “ There are always some boys 
who can’t be affected by anything short of cor¬ 
poral punishment. I remember one bully a year 
or two ago whose chief delight was wandering 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 277 


around his dormitory throwing pails of water over 
fellows who were about half his size. A sound 
thrashing would have worked mighty well with 
him.’^ 

Were you thinking of Fat Stillman, sir? 
asked Steve. 

Yes, he’s the one I had in mind.” 

I rather guess he didn’t escape exactly scot- 
free,” said Steve, chuckling. 

“ How’s that? ” asked Mr. Warren, scenting a 
story. What happened to him? ” 

Well,” Steve began, “ I suppose I ought not 
to tell about it, but then it wasn’t so bad. I used 
to room in Bishop Hall, where he did, and the 
smaller boys were always complaining about Fat. 
Finally I got about a dozen of them in my room 
one night and organized them into a kind of com¬ 
pany. I made the plans for them and they did 
the rest. The next night Fat dressed up and went 
out to Abbot Academy to call on a girl. He came 
back about quarter of ten, stopped to talk a min¬ 
ute in the vestibule down-stairs, and then started 
up. He hadn’t gone five feet before he was del¬ 
uged by water in every form: two hoses played 
on him, several buckets were dropped, and gal¬ 
lons were poured out of paper bags and buckets. 


278 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

He looked exactly like a drowned rat. I never 
saw a wetter, madder fellow in all my life. He 
picked himself up, shook himself like a dog, and 
then ran up breathing fire and vowing vengeance. 
When he reached the landing, he found at least 
twelve small boys armed with barrel staves and 
pokers, all ready to greet him. The rest of us 
older ones were hiding behind doors ready to take 
a hand if necessary. Fat could have tackled any 
two of them together, but the odds were too great. 
He was just like Gulliver among the Lilliputians. 
All he did was pass by with a kind of a growl and 
go to his room. After that, he never bullied a 
little fellow again.” 

‘‘ ThaFs the way to handle one of those bullies,” 
commented Mr. Warren. When one of them 
gets a taste of his own medicine, the whole com¬ 
munity is usually pleased.” 

“ Nobody can be a bully very long in this 
place,” said Dyke. Sooner or later he has a fall. 
Don’t you remember about Fat’s duel with Ivan 
Romanoff? ” 

‘‘What was that?” asked the Head, who had 
never heard the story. “ I’m sure that it sounds 
interesting enough.” 

And then Dyke, to the great delight of both 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 279 

Mr. Warren and the Head, told the details of the 
famous combat. 

Other stories followed, the Head telling one of 
his favorites about a certain teacher a few years 
before who was fond of ostentatiously wearing a 
doctor’s gown and hood to show that he was the 
proud owner of a Ph. D. degree. At commence¬ 
ment he appeared wearing this gorgeous raiment 
of red and purple, being the only one of the teach¬ 
ers to do so. When some of the older alumni saw 
him, they promptly gave three cheers for the 
President of the Board of Trustees,” to the in¬ 
tense amusement of every one present. 

When the bell struck three, Steve and Dyke 
rose simultaneously and explained that they must 
leave, both having been warned by Hal, their 
social mentor, that they must not stay beyond an 
hour after the dinner was over. Politely they ex¬ 
pressed their thanks for the Head’s hospitality, 
and then made their way out. It had been a de¬ 
lightful afternoon for them both and they both 
proceeded to write letters home about it. 

After they had left, the Head and his guest sat 
for some time talking them over. “ They are 
really remarkable types,” said Mr. Warren. 

That Fisher is as fine a specimen of young man- 


280 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

hood as I ever saw, and the way the other fellow, 
Hamlin, idolizes him is a joy to behold.” 

“ Yes, Steve is probably as good a type as we 
have, and his influence has made a man out of 
Dyke. Incidentally, I wonder how those boys 
happened to leave as early as they did? Do you 
know that sometimes I’m afraid to invite fellows 
in because they don’t know how to go? ” 

How’s that? ” 

Simply because they’re so embarrassed that 
they can’t take their leave. Didn’t I tell you the 
story about Mr. Slater here in town? ” 

No, I think not.” 

“ He’s one of the most hospitable and tactful 
men in the world, and is constantly entertaining 
boys in his home. One day last winter he in¬ 
vited two new boys, sons of friends of his, to 
Sunday dinner. They came, ate a large meal, and 
then sat around,—and sat around. Finally it be¬ 
came time for the vesper service. Then Mrs. 
Slater asked the boys if they didn’t wish to go, 
and Mr. Slater, of course, went with them. They 
followed him into his pew, and, after the service 
was over, there seemed nothing for him to do but 
to ask them to supper; thus he reappeared at six 
o’clock, much to his good wife’s astonishment, 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 281 


with the same two guests. They ate a refreshing 
supper, and then settled down for the evening. 
By this time the topics of conversation were get¬ 
ting exhausted, even for an experienced host. At 
last, Mr. Slater rose, excused himself and went 
up-stairs, where he telephoned the boys’ house of¬ 
ficer, asking him to call up a few minutes later 
and ask the boys to come home. In about five 
minutes, then, the telephone rang, and the maid 
reported that one of the boys was wanted. Mr. 
Slater could hear the boy protesting that he had 
not finished his call; but soon he returned to say 
that he was sorry but he must leave at once. So 
at nine o’clock, after a session of eight hours, the 
guests departed, and the Slaters retired for a 
much-needed rest.” 

I should think that they would be chary about 
inviting boys again.” 

Oh, no. Besides they’ve learned how to man¬ 
age it better now. They realize that the boy 
wants to go, but doesn’t know how. So, after he 
has stayed as long as he ought, Mrs. Slater now 
gets up and says, ‘ Well, boys, I’m afraid that I’m 

keeping you too long. I mustn’t impose upon 

» 

your unselfishness,’ and so gradually ushers them 
out. The boys are more relieved than she is.” 


282 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

Well, I certainly am indebted to you for let¬ 
ting me see the school as it is/' said Mr. Warren. 

I feel as if I had really discovered some of the 
secrets of its success. And now I’m going up¬ 
stairs to my room for a nap before I outstay my 
own welcome. I’m as bad as any one of the boys.” 

It was through talks like this, and with some 
of the members of the faculty, that Steve came 
to realize more than he had ever done before the 
greatness of the school. He could see now what 
his father had loved about Andover,—its un¬ 
broken history, its soundness of heart, its past and 
future. From his bedroom in Bartlet Hall he 
could look out towards the new Main Building, 
the gift of nearly three thousand graduates to the 
school. One evening in mid-December, after a 
fall of more than three inches of snow, he sat 
looking towards the pillared portico, which was 
then lighted up by a full moon. It was a glorious 
night, and the great building stood out a thing 
of stupendous beauty against the silver back¬ 
ground. Steve was no sentimentalist. His mind 
was essentially practical and direct. But he did 
have thoughts that approached the poetical. 
‘^That will.be there,” he thought, ‘'long after I 
have left here, probably long after I am dead and 


IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 283 


buried. Thousands of boys like me will sit in its 
classrooms and wander down its corridors, and 
each one of us will add something to the spirit of 
this place. My job is to make sure that what I 
contribute is worth while.” 

The moon was slowly sinking below the hori¬ 
zon ; the gleam around the building and its white 
portico died out; but for Steve that night re¬ 
mained a splendid memory of 


‘‘The light that never was on sea or land, 
The consecration and the poet’s dream. ^ * 


XI 


MEETING RESPONSIBILITY 

The Andover system, while it may not be ideal 
for everybody, does produce a kind of individual¬ 
ity in those who flourish under it. Once a boy 
has become accustomed to responsibility, even 
though it may be of a minor sort, he usually 
makes rapid progress in self-confidence, and may 
even display considerable capacity for leadership. 
So it had been with all the four friends. Steve, 
who, when he came to Andover, had been a raw 
country boy, had in two years developed into an 
independent and influential personage. His foot¬ 
ball ability had, of course, opened the way, but 
it was his personality which led others to trust 
him. Now, as president of the school and chair¬ 
man of the Senior Council, he was a conspicuous 
figure, who had won the respect of his comrades.^ 
How he managed to escape self-conceit is difficult 
to explain, but he was wholly without any sign 
of that fault. He took himself seriously, it is 

true, and kept out of “ rough-houses ’’ because he 

284 


MEETING RESPONSIBILITY 285 

thought them beneath his dignity; yet he never 
assumed an attitude of superiority and he still 
had a shyness which kept him from excessive 
speech. 

Joe belonged to another type,—the good-na¬ 
tured, slow-moving athlete, who is prominent 
solely because of his brawn and strength, and who, 
without these physical characteristics, would have 
been just an ordinary cog in the undergraduate 
wheel. But schoolboys pay unswerving homage to 
athletic prowess, and Joe profited by their in¬ 
stinctive tendency to idolize his work on the 
gridiron and the track. Without any natural gifts 
for leadership, he nevertheless was elected to im¬ 
portant positions, in which he was usually a silent 
member, following in the wake of Steve. Ted, in 
a certain sense, was better adapted than the oth¬ 
ers for responsibility. In spite of his aversion for 
games, he had managed to impress himself on the 
student body,—no small feat. His election as 
Football Manager was a tribute to his skill in 
organizing others. He had a remarkably per¬ 
suasive tongue, which was seldom silent, and his 
judgment of character was almost infallible. In 
many respects he was the most mature of the four, 
and yet he had childish propensities which were 


286 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


frequently dragging him into trouble. Intellec¬ 
tually, Hal was superior to the others, but his was 
a bookish rather than a practical mind. It was 
hard for him to mix with the crowd. As Manag¬ 
ing Editor of the Phillipian, he was a decided 
success, for he could sit alone in his study and 
write editorials which really attracted the atten¬ 
tion of sophisticated seniors; but he was not fitted 
to mingle with the common herd. 

Among them, the four had a voice in nearly 
every school activity, and each one complemented 
the others. In the long winter term, each one 
took up his own athletic pastime. Steve signed 
up for hockey, and had little difficulty in making 
the team; Joe spent long hours in the Cage, put¬ 
ting the shot and learning a new twist for the 
javelin throw; even Hal displayed rather unex¬ 
pected skill in swimming and won some points as 
a diver. Only Ted remained aloof from all forms 
of strenuous recreation and insisted on staying in¬ 
doors when the others were outside or in the 
Gymnasium. In the evenings they often got to¬ 
gether when their studying was done, usually tak¬ 
ing Joe and Ted’s room for a gathering-place. 
On Saturday nights each went to his society 
house, and did not come back ordinarily until 


MEETING RESPONSIBILITY 287 

eleven o’clock. There was a good deal of good- 
natured ‘"joshing” about societies, each one 
claiming superiority for his own gang; but there 
were no jealousies, and everybody seemed satisfied 
with the one to which he belonged. 

Among the regular diversions of the winter were 
the movies, which were operated on Saturday 
nights in the Gymnasium. The censor for the 
pictures was Dr. Clarkson, the School Minister, 
whose taste was refined to a high degree. He 
objected to all but the educational films, and 
frequently prevented the exhibition of some 
popular favorite. It was all the more delightful, 
then, when, on a certain evening when the Head 
and most of the faculty and their wives were 
present, the picture happened to be, by some mis¬ 
take, a lurid “ thriller,” opening in a frontier bar¬ 
room, where ladies of dubious standing mingled 
with “ toughs,” and where the richest humor con¬ 
sisted of the villain’s stepping on a large piece of 
gum and trying desperately to free himself. The 
boys naturally were soon wrought up to a point 
of ecstasy; while Dr. Clarkson literally writhed in 
complete despair. 

Another side of Steve’s character began to show 
itself in the increasing delight which he began to 


288 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

take in books. On the recommendation of Mr. 
Martin and Mr. Foote, he took up biographies. 
While Joe and Ted were planning political cam¬ 
paigns or criticising teachers, Steve would be 
buried in Charnwood’s Lincoln ” or Roosevelt’s 
“ Autobiography,” trying to learn the secret of 
their mastery over men. There had been a period 
when “ Snappy Stories ” and the “ Motion Picture 
Magazine ” were his favorites, but that had now 
gone by. ' 

Oddly enough. Dyke Hamlin had begun to re¬ 
veal a newly-formed and perfectly honest delight 
in literature. He would go to the library and 
bring home some tale of adventure like Conrad’s 
Typhoon ” or even Scott’s “ Last Expedition.” 
After he had gone word for word through this 
story of Antarctic exploration, he turned to 
Tennyson’s “ Ulysses ” and learned the poem by 
heart. He would walk about his room spouting: 

That which we are we are, 

One equal temper of heroic hearts 

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.’’ 

He even went so far as to write a yarn of the 
Spanish Main and gold doubloons for the 
Mirror, where it was duly published, much to 


MEETING RESPONSIBILITY 289 

the amazement of the four friends, to whom his 
transformation was almost a miracle. 

By this time, Dyke had become a vigorous and 
healthy-looking youth, with clear eyes and an 
erect bearing. When the winter term opened, he 
signed up for basketball, and, before many days 
had passed, it turned out that he was a real 
find.’^ He was retained on the squad after the 
first cut, and the Pkillipian soon drew atten¬ 
tion to his promising qualities. “ Come on, let’s 
go up to the game to-night,” said Steve to Hal, 
on the evening when the first outside contest was 
scheduled. “ I shouldn’t be surprised if Dyke got 
in.” Sure enough, when they looked down from 
the gallery, there was Dyke practising, looking as 
robust as if he had always been an athlete. 

“ Gaze at the boy’s build, will you,” commented 
Hal. I had always thought that he was just 
bones. He looks like a prize-fighter.” 

Oh, he’s been getting in condition,” said Steve. 
He used to be quite a player on his high-school 
team. The trouble was that he never kept train¬ 
ing until last fall. Now that he’s steadied down, 
he’ll be all right.” 

In the game which followed. Dyke played for¬ 
ward, and seemed to be all over the floor. Quick 


290 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

as the proverbial cat, he glided here and there 
without effort or exhaustion. He made several 
baskets from almost impossible angles, and it was 
due to him more than to any other player that 
Andover piled up a score of 38 to her opponents’ 
15. At one moment during the game Steve hap¬ 
pened to be standing near the Head, who turned 
to him suddenly and asked, Isn’t that your 
roommate. Dyke Hamlin, who’s doing so well 
down there?” 

That’s the fellow,” responded Steve, with a 
grin. He’s a regular weakling, isn’t he, sir? ” 
Yes, he certainly looks feeble. He’s the fresh¬ 
est man on the floor. I should judge that your 
prescriptions had improved him.” 

‘‘ He’s done it all himself, sir. I’m not respon¬ 
sible.” 

“ Well, all I can say is that you must have been 
an encouraging influence. I wish I could put a 
few more such specimens in your hands.” 

Unfortunately Dyke could not play very long 
on the team. One evening in early February, he 
came back from his five o’clock class complaining 
that he felt feverish. The next morning he did 
not get up, and the School Physician, who came 
in to take his temperature, ordered him at once 


MEETING RESPONSIBILITY 291 


to the Infirmary. Within twenty-four hours it 
was known that he had a well-marked case of 
scarlet fever. It was sad news to Steve, who had 
gradually grown very fond of the roommate who 
had been forced upon him. 

On the next day Dyke’s mother appeared at 
the Phillips Inn. She was a meek, pretty young 
woman, who seemed utterly helpless in the face 
of catastrophe. Dyke’s father had been killed in 
France during the World War, and he was the 
only child. For the next two weeks Steve’s chief 
business was to assist Mrs. Hamlin. He sat with 
her for hours during the period when the fever 
was at its height, and, on one terrible night when 
it seemed a toss-up as to whether Dyke would 
live or die, Steve never went to sleep, but waited 
in the Infirmary to see what he could do. For 
three days Dyke was critically ill; indeed the 
physician told Steve that the patient would have 
died if he had not been in such excellent physical 
condition. Meanwhile the entire student body 
was disturbed. The Dyke Hamlin of a year be¬ 
fore, whom nobody had liked and most decent 
fellows had despised, had now become a popular 
character, whose name was in everybody’s mouth. 

At last, after two weeks had gone by, Steve 


292 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 

came back one Wednesday afternoon to Joe’s 
room and said in a tired voice, ‘‘ I really believe 
the kid’s going to pull through.” 

“ Is he still delirious? ” 

No, he came back to his senses this morning, 
and they say the crisis is probably over.” 

He must be frightfully weak.” 

He certainly is. The nurse says that he must 
have lost thirty pounds. But he has a good con¬ 
stitution, and he’ll get along.” 

Not until the term was almost over was Dyke 
in a condition to be moved, and even then the 
doctors ordered him and his mother to Bermuda, 
stipulating that he should not return to Andover 
that year. Before he left, Steve was allowed to 
see him for fifteen minutes. When the two boys 
were alone. Dyke said, Steve, old man, I just 
wanted to tell you how grateful I am for what 
you have done for me.” 

Oh, forget it,” said Steve brusquely, with that 
hatred of sentimentalism which is inbred in any 
normal boy. 

“ Look here, Steve, I’m not going to weep on 
your shoulder and make a mushy scene, the way 
they do in ^ Eric, or Little by Little.’ All I want 
to say is this, and then I’ll shut up. You’ve 


MEETING RESPONSIBILITY 293 


turned me from a crawling worm into a human 
being. YouVe changed my whole point of view 
and let me see what decency is. Now I can’t come 
back to Andover this spring, and when I do re¬ 
turn in September, you’ll be gone. I want you to 
understand that I’m not going to fall back,— 
that’s all.” 

“ I know you won’t,” was Steve’s reply, and 
the conversation turned to other less dangerous 
topics. 

Before Mrs. Hamlin departed, she asked Steve 
to come up to her room for a minute. Then she 
handed him a little package, saying, Steve, I 
want to give you just a little something which 
will help to say what I think of what you have 
done. You’ve really saved Dyke’s whole career. 
He told me all about it the other day, and never 
left out a single one of his meannesses. Please 
keep this as a remembrance of the Hamlin fam¬ 
ily.” 

Opening the packet, Steve found in it a beau¬ 
tiful gold watch. But, Mrs. Hamlin,” he stam¬ 
mered, I can’t take this—I haven’t done any¬ 
thing -” 

Steve Fisher,” Mrs. Hamlin protested, with 
tears in her eyes, if you don’t take that right 



294 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

off without another word, I’ll have a crying fit, 
and you wouldn’t want me to do that, would 
you? ” 

“ No, ma’am,” confessed Steve, with a vigor 
that made Mrs. Hamlin smile. All right. I’ll 
take it, and I certainly am glad to have such a 
fine watch. But I didn’t deserve it, just the 
same.” 

So ended the first epoch in Dyke Hamlin’s his¬ 
tory. It needs only to be added that, when Steve 
returned to Andover as a Yale Freshman a few 
months later, he found Dyke one of the most re¬ 
spected leaders in the school. The reform had 
been a permanent one. 

Thus it was that Steve was left alone on the 
top floor of Bartlet during the remainder of the 
year. He could have gone back to his old quarters 
with Ted and Joe, but he really preferred to live 
by himself for a time. Much as he liked his 
friends, he found that there was a pleasure in 
spending an evening undisturbed by school gos¬ 
sip. The fact that Ted called him the Hermit 
and that Hal accused him of snobbery did not 
worry him in the slightest. 

Some of the most intense excitement of the 
winter for the four friends came when Hal and 


MEETING RESPONSIBILITY 295 


Ted both went out for the Means Speaking Con¬ 
test, and were both chosen among the final eight 
competitors. Hal had always been fond of oratory 
and had taken a prize each year in the Draper 
contest; his essay on The Futility of War was, 
in the judgment of his friends, of high merit. 
Stylistically, it was modeled on Webster, and it 
had a tone that made Steve say to Hal, “ Thou 
hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea.’^ 
Ted’s production, on the other hand, was collo¬ 
quial. Writing on Free Verse,” he touched in 
light fashion on Amy Lowell, Ezra Pound, John 
Gould Fletcher, and other masters of modern 
poetry, putting in an occasional dash of cynicism 
to add spice to his writing. The two rivals prac¬ 
tised their speeches in public, to the annoyance 
of their friends, and they were hailed as nuisances. 
Adopting the advice of his instructor in speaking, 
Hal used to stroll in the early morning to the 
banks of Rabbit’s Pond, where he made the trees 
echo and reecho with his denunciation of mili¬ 
tarism. Steve, happening to pass by on his return 
from a walk, heard such phrases as blood-stained 
battlefield,” gory limbs,” and useless carnage,” 
all indicative of the position which Hal had taken. 
In short, Hal had made up his mind that destiny 


296 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

intended him to be the great American orator, 
superseding Beveridge and Bryan. 

Ted, in the meantime, had adopted a less formal 
style of discourse. Speaking persuasively, as one 
man to another, he hoped to win the hearts of 
his audience. He announced to his friends that 
he was sure to be the victor and urged them to 
place their bets on him. Of course I’ll get first 
prize,” he answered, when questioned closely as 
to his chances. “ All Hal can do is roar and bel¬ 
low. He hasn’t any technique. He may have a 
fine voice, but he doesn’t know how to use it.” 
On the day of the contest, both boys were clearly 
much excited, and Joe and Steve did not make the 
ordeal any easier for them. When they saw Hal 
muttering to himself, they would nudge each 
other and point suggestively to their heads, as if 
to say, Poor fellow. It’s too bad he’s not all 
there.” In the evening, moreover, they collected 
a large crowd of their friends, with the result that 
the Chapel was nearly full, the audience being 
larger than a Means Contest had drawn in years. 

Hal was the second speaker on the program. 
When he stepped to the platform, he was greeted 
by thunders of applause, which seemed momen¬ 
tarily to disconcert him and led the presiding 


MEETING RESPONSIBILITY 297 


officer to look suspiciously at the front seats. 
Then Hal recovered and launched into his ora¬ 
tion. Steve was amazed. Hal, who had seemed 
so indifferent, so reticent, so undemonstrative, was 
transformed. As he portrayed the horrors of the 
trenches, he actually made Steve shiver, and the 
audience were obviously carried along with the 
speaker. The fools who had come to scoff were 
remaining, if not to pray, at least to applaud. 
He sat down amid a clapping even more noisy 
than that which had welcomed him,—but this 
time the noise indicated honest recognition of his 
achievement. There could be no doubt that he 
was a distinct success. 

Last on the program was Ted, who mounted 
the rostrum with a self-assurance that was laugh¬ 
able. Making no attempt at elocution, he began 
addressing the audience in a semi-confidential 
way, as if he were telling a secret to a group of 
dinner table companions. In a minute or two he 
was chatting away about “ the New England bard, 
Robert Frost.’^ I shall never forget,’’ he said, 
“ the words of that remarkable poem.” A pause 
ensued, which Steve considered to be for dramatic 
effect. “ I shall never forget,—I shall never for¬ 
get the words of that remarkable poem.” Again 


298 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


silence followed. ‘‘He’s overdoing it/’ thought 
Steve. For a second it was impressive; then it 
was oppressive. Ted wiped his brow, clenched his 
hands, and began again resolutely, “ I shall never 
forget the words of that remarkable poem,—er— 

er-” Then came the voice of a prompter in 

a sing-song tone from one of the front benches. 
“ Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.” 
“Ah!” muttered Ted, evidently relieved. 
“ Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,” 
and then stopped again. By this time Steve and 
Joe were in physical and mental agony. They 
wanted to laugh, but they did not dare. They 
sympathized with Ted, but could not show their 

pity. “ Er—er—er-” went on Ted, and then, 

with a wild dash of despair, rushed from the plat¬ 
form and fled out the rear door, never even re¬ 
turning to his original seat. The presiding ofiicer 
arose, asked the judges to retire, and the tragic 
scene was over. Eventually Hal was awarded the 
first prize, and the decision had the complete 
approval of the audience. 

Poor Ted! He got no pity from Joe and Steve. 
He had been too often implicated in practical 
jokes on others to get any mercy himself. They 
discovered him in his room, sitting disconsolately 





MEETING RESPONSIBILITY 299 

at his desk. Simultaneously they shouted, ‘ I 
shall never forget the words of that remarkable 
poem.^ “ Oh, shut up, will you? groaned Ted. 
“ Got your prize with you, Ted? ” asked Steve in 
an unctuous voice. Look here, what’ll you fel¬ 
lows take to move on? ” pleaded Ted. They went, 
for it did seem a bit hard to rub it in ” at that 
particular time. But Ted did not hear the last 
of the affair for many a long day. 

The fact that Steve Fisher had put away many 
childish things did not mean that the other boys 
in the school had suddenly become angels. There 
was still one teacher who was viewed by the school 
as legitimate prey. His full name, as recorded in 
the catalogue, was Llewellyn Coggeshall Bacon, 
and he was recorded as being a graduate of King¬ 
fisher College, Kingfisher, Oklahoma. After a 
week’s fair trial by the boys in his dormitory, he 
was unanimously christened Tiptoe,” having 
been found listening at the keyhole of a boy’s 
room in order to detect evidence of turpitude. 
Tiptoe was big and powerful, but his mind was 
slow-moving, and he allowed himself to be drawn 
into arguments with his students,—a practice 
which is fatal to discipline. One afternoon just 
before the Christmas holidays Steve was walking 


300 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


along in the rear of the Main Building, when he 
saw one boy after another appear at the window 
of a certain classroom, jump down over the ledge, 
and walk away towards Rabbit’s Pond. At last 
Steve recognized Ted Sherman, stopped him, and 
asked, Hi, Ted, what’s all the row? ” 

“ Ha, ha,” laughed Ted. I’m in Tiptoe’s 
French class. When we settled down at the open¬ 
ing of the hour. Chuck Ellis raised his hand and 
asked Tiptoe if he wouldn’t give us a cut. And 
then the whole class began to whisper,—you know 
the way they do,—and say ‘ Give us a cut! Give 
us a cut! ’ Finally Tiptoe said, ^ All right, boys. 
I’ll do the white thing by you as long as you have 
asked for it so decently; but you can’t go down 
the corridor because that would make too much 
noise. You’ll have to jump out the window, and 
depart quietly.’ So here I am.” 

‘‘ You’re a fine member of the Senior Council, 
you are,” commented Steve. 

Oh, don’t be a prig, Steve,” said Ted. It 
was such easy money that I just couldn’t resist. 
You’d have done the same thing yourself under 
the same conditions.” 

After that experience, it seemed as if Steve were 
hearing things every day about Tiptoe and his 


MEETING RESPONSIBILITY 301 

eccentricities. One of the most charming young 
ladies in Andover was Mollie Colgate, whose home 
was a place where the boys liked to gather when¬ 
ever they could secure permission. One evening 
Tiptoe had been invited to dinner at the Colgate 
home and had been placed by Mollie’s side, with 
the result that he became violently enamored and 
appeared after that in the guise of her insepara¬ 
ble swain. It cannot be denied that Mollie prac¬ 
tised her wiles upon him, to the infinite satisfac¬ 
tion of the boys, who naturally watched the 
progress of the affair with eagerness undissembled. 
When Tiptoe asked Mollie to go sleigh-riding with 
him, nearly every fellow in school heard of the 
invitation, and, when the precise hour had been 
disclosed, at least a hundred excited boys gath¬ 
ered at the appointed time on the corner near the 
Colgate house. Precisely at three o’clock Tip¬ 
toe appeared alone on the front seat of a double 
sleigh. He drove a rather wobbly horse to the 
front door, carefully ushered Miss Mollie into 
the rear seat, and then started off. This was al¬ 
most too much. The spectacle of Tiptoe on the 
front seat with Mollie on the seat behind him was 
so absurd that the boys hardly knew how to act. 
They gave one convulsive cheer, to which the un- 


302 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

abashed Mollie responded by waving her hand¬ 
kerchief at them. But they could do no more. 
Any man who would take a pretty girl to ride 
under such circumstances! The undergraduate 
verdict was unanimous that Tiptoe should be in 
the asylum. 

It was Tiptoe, as Steve learned later from Mr. 
Foote, who had signalized his entrance into An¬ 
dover society by sending to each of the faculty 
wives in turn a bouquet of flowers,—to one vio¬ 
lets, to another rosebuds, to a third carnations,— 
following out a suggestion made to him by a 
jocular colleague. The first lady to receive this 
unexpected tribute was naturally much elated, 
and boasted of her conquest to her friends. When 
the second bouquet arrived, the new recipient had 
also her story to tell. Before very long, several 
ladies were congratulating themselves on their 
good fortune. And then the secret was revealed, 
much to the embarrassment of all concerned. 

Steve had occasion once during the winter to 
call on Tiptoe for some information regarding a 
French course. As he entered the dormitory, he 
heard a weird medley of howls and whistles, and 
found an indoor football contest going on in the 
first-floor corridor. Boys were rushing up and 


MEETING RESPONSIBILITY 303 

down, plaster was falling from the walls, and the 
place looked like a madhouse. Steve, supposing 
of course that Tiptoe was out, knocked perfunc¬ 
torily on his door, only to receive a hearty invita¬ 
tion to enter. There was Mr. Bacon, sitting com¬ 
fortably at his desk, apparently busy correcting 
examination papers. “ Ah, how do you do, 
Fisher,’^ he said, rising to shake hands with his 
visitor. I hope that my boys do not seem too 
noisy. I permitted them to indulge in some sports 
this evening, feeling that they might study better 
after some physical exercise.’^ As he spoke, a 
snowball, round and hard, came through the 
open window, narrowly missing Steve’s head. 
‘‘Aha! Some one is getting playful,” said Mr. 
Bacon, without, however, stirring to investigate 
the source. 

It took Steve but a moment to transact his 
business, but in the meantime two more snow¬ 
balls had been thrown into the room, one of them 
knocking a photograph off the mantelpiece. 

“ Don’t you want me to stop that, Mr. Bacon? ” 
asked Steve. 

“ Certainly, if you can do it, Fisher,” answered 
the instructor, still unperturbed. 

Armed with this permission, Steve went out 


304 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


the rear door of the dormitory, made his way 
through some trees to the other side, and con¬ 
cealed himself behind some shrubs. Within a 
minute a small, active figure emerged from a lilac- 
bush, took careful aim, and let a snowball fiy 
straight for the teacher’s open window. In a 
twinkling Steve was upon him, bore him to the 
ground, and proceeded to wash his face in the 
cool snow. 

Help! Help! ’’ wailed the youngster in dole¬ 
ful tones, not knowing who his assailant was. I 
won’t do it again. I won’t do it again.” 

No, I don’t think you will,” answered Steve, 
as he hauled the little fellow to his feet. Who 
are you? What’s your name? ” 

“ Layton, sir,” replied the frightened boy, 
thinking he was in the hands of the enemy. 

Well, Layton,” said Steve, you go to your 
room as fast as you can, and, if I catch you at this 
kind of business again. I’ll skin you alive. Now, 
beat it.” 

The boy trotted off as fast as his legs would 
carry him, and Steve walked slowly back to Bart- 
let, just a trifle perplexed as to what he ought to 
do. In Andover, the power of the teachers is so 
great and discipline is so quickly and firmly ad- 


MEETING RESPONSIBILITY 305 


ministered that it ought to be very easy for an 
instructor to keep order. Indeed the spirit of the 
school is law-abiding; classrooms are usually very 
peaceful places, and, when disorder develops, it is 
in nine cases out of ten the fault of the teacher. 
For this reason Steve did not like the situation 
in Mr. Bacon’s dormitory. 

He talked the matter over with his friends, and 
eventually called a meeting of the Senior Council, 
at which each member had some story of disorder 
which Tiptoe had been unable to suppress. The 
Council agreed that it was their business to do 
what they could to clean up matters. Steve then 
called on the Head at his office, explained care¬ 
fully what he proposed to do, and was given free 
rein by that wise gentleman. He next organized 
his plans for reform. 

On the following Saturday, as Steve surmised, 
there would be an excellent opportunity for a 
rough-house. The members of the Senior Coun¬ 
cil, including at least four of the most powerful 
athletes in school, were joined by ten other mem¬ 
bers of major teams, and gathered in the neigh¬ 
borhood of Tiptoe’s dormitory about nine o’clock. 
Sure enough, a regular riot was in progress, in 
the course of which fire extinguishers were ap- 


306 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


parently favorite weapons. As soon as the vigi¬ 
lantes were assembled, Steve and his posse en¬ 
tered the hall and rushed up-stairs. Without de¬ 
lay, they seized the ringleaders, tied them hand 
and foot with ropes, and, after bidding the other 
participants to go to their rooms, carried the cul¬ 
prits to Mr. Bacon’s suite. There the eight se¬ 
lected victims, trussed and terrified, were dis¬ 
tributed around on sofas and chairs, and then 
Steve said, Mr. Bacon, the Senior Council has 
decided to help you to stop the disorder in your 
dormitory. We’ll do anything you say with these 
ruffians.” 

“ Why,” said Tiptoe refiectively, I don’t know 
that you ought to hurt them. They are good 
boys, you know.” 

They’ll be hurt, sir, before we’ve finished with 
them. But what shall we do about demerits? 
Shall I report them to the Head? ” 

No, I don’t know that you had better do that, 
Fisher,” replied Mr. Bacon. I don’t want to 
get them into trouble.” 

‘‘Very well, sir, just as you say,” responded 
Steve, astounded by Tiptoe’s indifference. Steve 
then collected all the boys in the dormitory to¬ 
gether, told them that Mr. Bacon had been ex- 



THE STATELY ELM ARCH. 

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MEETING RESPONSIBILITY 307 


ceptionally lenient with them, and announced 
that summary punishment would be inflicted on 
anybody there who tried to take advantage of 
the master’s kind heart. With this vigorous 
warning, Steve and his cohorts returned to their 
rooms, well satisfied with their night’s work. 

The Head, although he gathered full particu¬ 
lars from other sources, never asked Steve what 
had happened. But Steve himself, on the follow¬ 
ing morning, called a meeting of the undergradu¬ 
ates, explained what the Senior Council had done, 
and asked for their approval. The answer was 
round after round of applause. There was no 
more trouble in Mr. Bacon’s dormitory that year. 

Mr. Bacon left Andover at the end of the year 
and went to a university for graduate work. His 
doctorate thesis on The Sources of the Humor 
in Mark Twain’s ‘ Huckleberry Finn ’ ” aroused 
much interest in scholarly circles. He now reads 
a paper each year before the Modern Language 
Association of America. 


XII 


CLOSING THE YEAE 

4Spring again in Andover! Not that this brings 
smiling skies or dry ground immediately, or that 
every day dawns pleasant. It doesn’t. But it 
does mean that for a week or two the heavy dirty- 
looking snow-drifts melt slowly away, sending 
rapid torrents of water down the sidewalks and 
gutters; that maple buds then begin to show, and 
tulips peep above the soil; and that, as early May 
comes in, the air gets soft and warm, the apple 
and peach blossoms shine in the orchards, and 
there is a new joy in the blood of young men. 
Older people, to whom the passing of the seasons 
is a commonplace event, often forget the sheer 
delight in living which throbs in youthful hearts 
as soon as south winds blow. 

Steve felt it, you may be sure, when he stepped 
out of Bartlet one April morning and scented the 
fragrant air. He wanted to leap up and down, 
to turn a few handsprings, to climb a tree. The 
light turf reminded him that the first baseball 

game was coming that Saturday. Hi, you loaf- 

308 


309 


CLOSING THE YEAR 

4 

ers/’ he shouted at Joe and Ted, arise and greet 
the dawnj’ And he walked off to breakfast 
whistling Old P. A” with all his might, trying 
to get rid of the poetry in his soul by keeping 
his body moving. 

On such days it is not easy for ardent spirits 
like Steve to sit quietly in the classroom. Nature 
was calling outside, urging her children into the 
open; and Steve learned later that there were 
few of his teachers who were eager to linger long 
near blackboard and chalk and examination pa¬ 
pers. But life, as Steve had reasoned it out, is a 
combination of duty and pleasure, and, if the 
duty is neglected, the pleasure also vanishes with 
it. This is a simple philosophy, the survival of 
some primitive New England conscience, but it 
is quite adequate for most of our daily emergen¬ 
cies, and Steve followed it implicitly. That is 
why he puzzled his brain trying to master some 
complicated lines of Cicero’s De Amicitia ” that 
morning, and forgot the sunshine in working out 
a puzzle in Trigonometry. He was glad to notice 
that he could now concentrate his mental energies 
on a painful task. At twelve o’clock, thanks to 
his foresight, he was free, and able all the better 
to appreciate his liberty. 


310 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

During the spring term, Steve was, as baseball 
captain and pitcher, the unquestioned king of the 
school. It used to amuse him to see the smaller 
boys gazing at him with obvious admiration on 
their faces; he could well remember how he had 
felt when, as a young cub on the nine, he had 
first had a talk with the famous Bo Swift. To 
these youngsters, Steve was a giant among pig¬ 
mies, and therefore worthy of adulation. The 
leaders in a school like Andover have a heavier 
responsibility than most of them realize, for they 
can, in a sense, raise or lower the standard of the 
undergraduate body. It was the consciousness of 
this fact which had more than once restrained 
Steve from some childish prank or thoughtless 
violation of the rules. 

Spring was a period when every hour was oc¬ 
cupied. Each afternoon Steve was out on the 
playing-fields. After dinner at night, he had com¬ 
mittee meetings or conferences with the Coach; 
and when the eight o’clock bell began to ring, he 
was always glad enough to settle down at his desk 
to do the lessons for the next day. Over his desk 
was a card on which he had made out a daily 
schedule, his time being divided as carefully as 
that of a business executive; and even then he 


311 


CLOSING THE YEAR 

had hardly minutes enough for keeping his ap¬ 
pointments. Only on Sunday mornings could he 
lie late in bed and forget his cares, going without 
breakfast gladly in order to revel in the luxury 
of rolling over for an extra snooze.’’ Rooming 
alone as he now did, he could carry out his plans 
without having them disturbed by the revelries 
of some less conscientious roommate. 

Life, however, was not all “ dull care ” and 
ceaseless toil.” In May came the annual so¬ 
ciety reunions, when the graduate brothers of the 
various fraternities returned to Andover to renew 
their friendships and revive their loyalty. Noth¬ 
ing was more interesting to Steve than to sit with 
open ears while these older men told of their days 
in the school. In the K. P. N. house, where Steve 
and Hal belonged, there were always graduates 
who were willing to talk about the “ good old 
times ” when the Commons buildings were the 
only dormitories. Perhaps it would be Sanderson, 
’83, who was talking: 

You boys with your luxurious dormitories and 
bathrooms and steam heat and rugs on your floors 
haven’t any idea of the way we old-timers used 
to live. Back in my day most of the fellows 
roomed in the Commons,—the worst-looking old 


312 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


wooden buildings you ever saw, three stories high, 
with narrow winding staircases. We didn't have 
any steam heat. I guess not! Every room had 
a stove in it, and each fellow had to chop his 
own wood and empty his own ashes. If we 
wanted to wash our faces, we had to go down with 
a bucket to the Commons pump. No such ener¬ 
vating luxury as hot water! And I wish you 
could see the furniture; it was all scarred up and 
battered with the use of fifty years. Of course 
we didn't have any electricity or gas. The only 
light was oil lamps, which used to be always run¬ 
ning over and getting on fire." 

“ What could you do then? " inquired Hal. 

Oh, just throw them right through the win¬ 
dow to the ground and let them burn out. Most 
of the glass in the windows was broken out, any¬ 
way, during snowball season, and we had to stuff 
the holes with shirts and old socks. There wasn't 
much esthetic beauty about those old barracks. 
And mice and rats! I never saw such rats any¬ 
where on earth, not even along the docks in Ho¬ 
boken." 

Why didn't the Commons burn down? " was 
a natural query from Steve. 

One or two of them did, I think; but I don't 


313 


CLOSING THE YEAR 

see now why they all didn’t go. The boys used 
to dump their ashes, with glowing coals in them, 
right over the stairs down cellar.” 

“ Weren’t there any teachers in those buildings 
the way we have ^ house-profs ’ now? ” 

“ Once in a while the faculty would put an in¬ 
structor in one of the rooms, but somehow he 
never stayed very long. It wasn’t a very healthy 
atmosphere for teachers. In my day a teacher 
used to come around about twice a term on what 
was called ‘ inspection.’ But he never used to find 
anything to report. I rather suspect he was glad 
to get back unwounded.” 

It must have been pretty hard, living that 
way,” said Hal. 

In a sense it was, I suppose,” answered Mr. 
Sanderson, but we never seemed to mind it. I 
have an idea that the rough life was rather good 
for most of us. We got to be self-reliant; we had 
to be. Nobody was ever sick, even though we 
didn’t have an Infirmary. And the fellows we 
turned out were a good lot. It’s mostly their 
money which has given you youngsters all the 
comforts you enjoy. I’d like to live long enough 
to see whether your generation does as well as 
ours did.” 


314. 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


We try to do our best, anyhow,’^ ventured 
Steve. 

“ Yes, and your wonderful athletic system gives 
you something which we didn’t really have. Back 
in my time, a few fellows played on the teams, 
but the others just loafed around. Now I under¬ 
stand that everybody has to exercise his muscles 
in some way, and I’m sure that kind of physical 
training is going to count later on when you get 
to be middle-aged. I hope so, anyhow.” 

Talk like this helped Steve to understand what 
it was that had made Andover great. He could 
comprehend now better than ever before the 
classical story of the lighted torch handed down 
by one generation to another, and thus kept burn¬ 
ing from century to century. When Andover was 
concerned, alumni and students were united to 
maintain her prestige. 

The effect of the spring ozone on some of the 
more lawless souls was one of slight intoxication, 
and did not prove beneficial. There were some 
always who could not resist the temptation to 
steal out at night after hours and visit neighbor¬ 
ing towns. These nocturnal excursions were often 
harmless enough, but they were, of course, con¬ 
trary to school rules,—and every normal boy has 


315 


CLOSING THE YEAR 

at moments an impulse to break a rule. Joe once 
explained to Steve that he had never wished to 
visit the city of Lawrence until he learned that it 
was out of bounds; and then he sneaked out one 
evening, took a trolley to that city, and looked 
it over. He was back in two hours undetected. 
He had not enjoyed himself very much, but he 
had defied the regulations. And he never did it 
again. 

It is manifestly impossible in any school for a 
teacher, however Argus-eyed, to keep a close 
watch on every boy in his charge. A boy who 
deliberately schemes to sneak out of his room at 
midnight and go out for a lark may for a time 
escape detection, as Joe did. But somehow these 
night-walkers usually get caught in the end, and 
then the great axe falls relentlessly. They either 
grow too bold, and are discovered in some care¬ 
less moment, or they fall off in their studies and 
pay the penalty in another way. There was little 
Vern Lucas, for instance, who lived just across 
the hall from Steve. When the warm nights ar¬ 
rived, he used to go down the fire-escape and slip 
over to the cemetery, where, peacefully seated on 
a tombstone, he would enjoy a cigarette under the 
stars and meditate on the mutability of human 


316 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

affairs,—nothing more vicious. For a time all 
went well. Then one evening about ten-thirty, 

Charlie ” Palmer, the house-prof,” who had 
been out at dinner, came up to the top-floor with 
a telegram for Vern. Knocking at Vern’s door, he 
got no response. Then he came to Steve’s room. 

“ Good-evening, Fisher,” he said. “ Do you 
happen to know whether Lucas has gone to 
sleep? ” 

“ He was here half an hour ago,” answered 
Steve, evasively, for he was not without his sus¬ 
picions. 

“ I guess I’ll try his door. This telegram is an 
important one,” said Mr. Palmer. 

When he found that the knob would not turn, 
Mr. Palmer drew out his master key and entered. 
No Lucas! The bed was unoccupied, but there 
were evidences that some one had been there not 
long before. Then Mr. Palmer went systematic¬ 
ally through the dormitory, looking in every room, 
but Vern was obviously not there. There was 
nothing to do but to mark him out. 

About an hour later, while Steve was still por¬ 
ing over his Idylls of the King,” there was a 
light knock on his door and Vern glided in. 

Hi, Steve, any trouble about me? ” 


317 


CLOSING THE YEAR 

I should say there was. Charlie has been 
looking all over for you trying to give you a tele¬ 
gram. I guess you’re in for it. Where in the 
world have you been? ” 

'' Just out for a walk with Archie Quarrier. We 
went up Highland Road a bit and just got back. 
It’s a wonderful night.” 

It’s likely to be something more than wonder¬ 
ful for you.” 

What had I better do, Steve? ” 

I don’t know. If you wake Charlie up now, 
he’ll murder you sure. And if you don’t, he’ll 
think you were out all night. You’re in a sweet 
mess, all right.” 

Don’t I know it? I think, though, that I’ll 
wait until morning and then tell him that you 
know I was in at eleven-thirty. He always be¬ 
lieves you.” 

Perhaps he will,” replied Steve, but I’d 
spend the morning packing my trunks if I were 
you. Haven’t you got seven cuts already? ” 

Yes, worse luck. But then I may escape. So 
long! ” 

Before Vern could see Mr. Palmer the next 
morning, that gentleman had gone to breakfast. 
At ten o’clock the boy received a summons from 


318 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

the office. In the brief but pungent interview 
which followed, Vern confessed his delinquencies, 
made no excuses, and was formally suspended for 
the rest of the year. Before night fell, Vern was 
on the way to Pittsburgh to receive the paternal 
blessing. Before he left, he had a parting con¬ 
versation with Steve. 

My, I certainly was a fool, wasn’t I? But I 
never thought they’d get me for a little thing like 
that.” 

Have you been here nearly three years with¬ 
out finding out that you can’t always pull the 
wool over the faculty’s eyes? ” 

Well, I’m willing to admit that I thought I 
could get away with it. And now won’t I catch 
it! Wait until the old gentleman sees me com¬ 
ing! I’ll be annihilated.” 

‘‘ The best way is to tell him exactly what hap¬ 
pened, Vern. You’ll have another chance next 
year to make good.” 

I guess you don’t know the Honorable George 
F. Lucas. He’ll put me to work this summer 
shoveling coal in one of his mines.” 

That won’t do you any harm, I imagine. A 
few weeks of manual labor will teach you a lot.” 

The forced departure of any weU-known boy 


319 


CLOSING THE YEAR 

always causes a sensation in Andover, especially 
if it happens suddenly, as in Vein's case. The 
boys discuss the matter seriously, and habitual 
sinners at once resolve to reform. Vein's fate 
made a considerable impression in the dormitory. 
Even Ted Sherman, who was every whit as guilty 
as Vein, announced publicly his intention of 
changing his habits. 

With the work on the Pot-Pourri ahead 
of me," he said quite frankly to Steve, I can't 
afford to be fired. There's no use talking. I'll 
have to lead the virtuous life for the next few 
weeks." Those philosophers who do not believe 
in the fear of punishment as a deterrent against 
wrong-doing should have watched Ted that 
spring. He was the model youth, always in at 
eight o'clock, always sound asleep at eleven, and 
invariably the first to protest when the dorm " 
started a rough-house. It was a confiict of mo¬ 
tives and desires in his soul, and for once good 
overcame evil. Ted by some accident obtained a 
photograph of Barnard's statue called I feel two 
Natures struggling within Me," which is in 
the Metropolitan Museum, and nailed it up over 
his desk. It was a sufficient comment on his own 
situation. 


820 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

For the first time in three years there seemed 
to be a chance for the track team to win an Ex¬ 
eter meet. “ Things are going all right/' Joe said 
to Steve. I'm getting at least three feet more 
with the shot than I did a year ago. John Fitchen 
is doing well in the mile, too, and he'll break a 
record if he keeps on improving. The only man 
I'm worried about is Len Whitney. He simply 
won't keep training. There he is, the best hurdler 
we have, sure to win the high and low both if 
he doesn't blow up; and I know that he's smoking 
right along." 

Why don't you drop him off the squad, Joe? " 
replied Steve. It would pay in the end." 

Maybe it would, but Shop's the CoacH, and 
he hates to put him off. Besides the school would 
go wild if Len weren't in the meet." 

That evening Steve dropped in at the Head's 
house, as he had come to do quite often. Ap¬ 
parently Steve had no motive in mind except 
friendly talk. At one point, however, the Head 
■asked, By the way, how is Joe getting along with 
his track team? " 

All right, I think," answered Steve, if only 
he could be sure of Len Whitney." 

‘^What do you mean?" inquired the Head. 


CLOSING THE YEAR 321 

“ Isn’t Whitney following Coach Shepley’s in¬ 
structions? ” 

‘‘ I don’t believe so, sir. Why don’t you ask 
Joe?” 

No,” responded the Head, apparently to him¬ 
self, I think I’ll have a little talk with Len my¬ 
self.” 

About a week later, when the subject came up 
again, Joe said quite unexpectedly to Steve, By 
the way, what did you do to Len Whitney to make 
him take such a brace? ” 

I didn’t do anything. In fact I’ve hardly 
seen him since we were talking his case over. 
Why do you ask? Is he keeping training now? ” 
He certainly is, and his time gets faster every 
day. If he keeps it up, he’ll smash the world’s 
interscholastic record in the low hurdles.” 

I certainly am glad of that, but I’m not re¬ 
sponsible. Some other good angel must have got¬ 
ten busy. Whoever did it deserves a vote of 
thanks.” 

Steve did not wish to betray the Head; but 
that gentleman had had an interview with Len 
Whitney. What was said in their conversation 
will probably never be disclosed, but there was 
no more trouble with Len that year. A few words 


322 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

in season had prevented disaster both for the 
track team and for a promising young athlete. 

After a very satisfactory preliminary record, the 
final track meet with Exeter was held on the after¬ 
noon of Memorial Day. It was a gorgeous spec¬ 
tacle. The stands, in the brilliant sunlight, 
gleamed with variegated colors, the dresses and 
hats of ladies, which sparkled like rainbow stuff 
brought down to earth. The turf on the playing- 
fields was never greener, against a background 
of white houses, tall pine-trees, and a rich blue 
sky beyond. It was so warm that coats were 
not needed, and the spectators basked in the 
sun. 

A track meet is by no means so exciting as a 
football contest, but there are thrills here and 
there which send shivers up and down one’s spine. 
In the first event, the hammer-throw, which was 
carried on in a spot remote from the field so 
that no one might be injured by a careless throw, 
Joe astonished himself and the small group of 
rooters by making a cast of 168 feet, breaking his 
own record and that of the Academy. As the 
Exeter star was so unfortunate as to foul on each 
trial, Andover accumulated five points to Exeter’s 
four,—an unexpected gain for the blue. 


323 


CLOSING THE YEAR 

In the quarter-mile run, which was next on the 
program, the spectators were gratified by a close 
finish, in which sturdy blond Phil Allen, the An¬ 
dover sprinter, won from his opponent by the 
traditional hair. Then came the low hurdles, with 
Len Whitney breaking the world’s interscholastic 
record, and coming in five yards ahead of his near¬ 
est competitor. Now it was Exeter’s turn, for the 
hundred-yard dash gave her a first and a second 
place, and the mile run added more points to her 
total. The score-board, set up in the middle of 
the field, showed the schools running neck and 
neck. Andover went into the lead after the jave¬ 
lin throw was over, but was overtaken when the 
two-twenty-yard dash and the high jump results 
were announced. Len Whitney once more vindi¬ 
cated himself by winning the high hurdles, and 
then Exeter’s captain, “ Si ” Beeson, took first in 
the high jump by making a spectacular leap of 
five feet, ten inches. The light bar trembled as 
he brushed it slightly, but still stayed on the up¬ 
rights, and the spectators had another outbreak 
of enthusiasm. For the time being it looked like 
anybody’s meet, with two events yet to come,— 
the half-mile run and the shot-put. 

Phil Allen had beaten two minutes for the half 


324 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

mile in practice, but he had already run a fast 
quarter, and furthermore he had a doughty op¬ 
ponent in Charlie Sawyer, the Exeter runner. 
The pace from the start was fast, and the two 
were neck and neck at the end of the first lap, 
the others being more than ten yards behind. 

Go it, Phil,” ‘‘ Speed her up, Charlie,” howled 
the frantic rooters as the rivals swept by the 
stands. On the back stretch Phil began gradu¬ 
ally to pull away, and the Andover cheers in¬ 
creased in volume. Then fifty yards from the 
finish, Sawyer sprinted. Little by little he crept 
up, until the two were almost abreast. At this 
point Phil Allen could not resist glancing back,—a 
thing which he had been coached never under any 
circumstances to do. That fraction of a second 
was enough to lose him the race. Sawyer plunged 
forward five yards from the tape, and crossed the 
line just a bare three inches ahead. Time, 1 min¬ 
ute, 59% seconds! Phil’s curiosity seemed likely 
to cost his school the meet. 

The score, recorded by huge white chalk figures 
on the blackboard, was now 56-55, in favor of 
Exeter, with the shot-put yet to be heard from. 
This event is not ordinarily very exciting, and 
few people pay much attention to it until the 


CLOSING THE YEAR 


325 


result is announced. But now every one had his 
eyes fixed on the ten or twelve stalwart forms in 
the center of the field. Joe, his huge bulk tower¬ 
ing above the others, stepped to the circle, and, 
with what seemed to be no effort at all, tossed the 
leaden sphere. The measurers put down the tape. 
Then the announcer took up his megaphone and 
shouted through it, ‘‘ Watson of Andover puts the 
shot 45 feet, 6 inches! The cheer-leaders called 
for a long Andover.’’ It was certain that no 
Exeter man could equal this throw. But could 
Andover get second or third, and win? If Exeter 
should get both places, the meet would be a tie. 
The only Andover competitor who really had a 
chance was Spider ” Drummond, a short stocky 
lad, with glasses and a rather scholarly look, whom 
nobody seemed to know much about. Joe had, 
of course, seen him on the squad, but had not 
taken him very seriously. In making his first 
trial, he slipped and registered only 37 feet, and 
two Exeter men were ahead of him when the first 
round was over. 

On his second attempt Joe went 46 feet, 8 
inches,—a dual meet record,—^but this achieve¬ 
ment would accomplish nothing if Exeter won 
the two other places. The unfortunate Spider 


326 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


again did poorly, scoring only 39 feet; thus, when 
the third and last round opened, the two Exeter 
athletes were still ahead of him. Joe went over 
to Spider and held a whispered conversation with 
him. Then Spider, oblivious of the noise and 
the excitement, removed his spectacles, stepped 
to his place, and put the weight to his shoulder. 
A silence fell over the field, for somehow every 
one was conscious of the crisis. Then, with all his 
muscles coordinated, he made the throw of his 
life. It was clear that he had done well. But 
how well? In a minute the measurers reported. 
Then from the stands the spectators could see the 
Andover men dancing about, shaking hands with 
Spider, and even turning handsprings in their 
ecstasy. The voice of the announcer could be 
heard, Drummond of Andover puts the shot 44 
feet, 2 inches.’^ It was three feet farther than 
Spider had ever gone before; and, what was of 
more importance, it was two feet beyond the near¬ 
est Exeter man! 

The meet was really now all over. The Exeter 
contestants strained hopelessly to better their rec¬ 
ords, and one by one dropped out. As the last 
one looked appealingly at the measurers, the An¬ 
dover boys swept on the field, seized Joe, Spider, 


CLOSING THE YEAR 327 

and the others, and bore them off on their shoul¬ 
ders around the track. A celebration that night 
was assured. 

While they stood panting under the shower 
bath in the Gymnasium, Joe said to Spider, That 
was wondei'iul, old man! How in blazes did you 
do it? You never did anything like that before.^’ 

I’ve been trying to find out, myself. I guess 
you cheered me up a good deal when you told me 
that I could do it. All I know is that I kept say¬ 
ing to myself, ^ Drummond, you dub, you’ll never 
dare show yourself in public again if you don’t 
beat those Exeter fellows,’ and the old shot just 
seemed to take wings.” 

Well, you won the meet for us. If it hadn’t 
been for you, the score would have been a tie, and 
that would have been as good as a victory for 
Exeter.” 

“ I’m glad I have been able to do something. 
I’ve been here four years and so far have never 
raised a ripple. I haven’t even made the chess 
team or gotten on the second Honor Roll. My 
father will never believe that I have won an ^ A ’ 
in athletics.” 

I’ll tell him a few things when I see him,” 
said Joe. And he did. 


328 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


Joe’s great night had come at last, after three 
years of waiting. The torches danced gaily about 
the streets and the band played with the same old 
vigor. Steve, as he led the cheering and watched 
the proceedings, wondered what the next week 
would bring forth, but the boys were, occupied in 
the present, rejoicing over the bird that was in 
their hands. All that they knew or cared was 
that another victory was theirs. 

And so the time drew near for Steve’s last ap¬ 
pearance in an Andover uniform. In spite of all 
the power of his will, he lay awake for several 
hours on Friday evening, thinking over those 
other great games in which he had taken part,— 
the one in his first year, when he was put into 
the box in the ninth inning, and that contest of 
the previous June, when his pitching had brought 
Andover once more out ahead. Could he do it 
once more before he left? Could he leave the 
school with a spotless record? 

Steve enjoyed to the full the familiar rewards 
of success,—the cheering in morning chapel, the 
warm greetings of his friends, and the stout hand¬ 
clasp of the Head as the latter wished him good 
luck. The Reverend Mr. Fisher had left his par¬ 
ish in Montana to come to Andover for a two- 


CLOSING THE YEAR 


329 


weeks’ vacation, and had arrived at Andover late 
on the evening before, just in time to have break¬ 
fast with his son, walk around the Hill for a 
glimpse of his old haunts, and then board the 
train for Exeter. It was thirty years since Jim ” 
Fisher had seen New England, and memories of 
the past crowded in on his mind; but above all 
was the consciousness that it was his son, his tall 
and muscular boy, who was to lead the Andover 
nine that day. Steve sat with his father on the 
way up, and the two renewed their acquaintance. 

“ I suppose you’re scared ’way down to your 
toes. Son? ” 

Yes, I am. Dad. But I didn’t think that I 
showed it. How did you guess that my knees 
want to knock together? ” 

Oh, just because you’re trying to look so un¬ 
concerned. You see I went through a little some¬ 
thing of the kind myself back in ’83.” 

Yes, but it’s strange that, after I’ve played 
in so many Exeter games, I can’t keep more calm.” 

You’ll be cool enough in the box; never fear. 
You’ve got to be mighty frightened now if you’re 
going to be keen later. It’s a good sign to have 
your heart beat faster and your hands tremble 
a little.” 


330 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


At the Exeter station the father and son sepa¬ 
rated, and did not see each other again until Steve, 
who was, of course, on the players’ bench, noticed 
his father waving to him from the stands, where 
he had a seat beside the Head. 

‘‘You ought to be proud of a son like that,” 
said the Head, when the Reverend James intro¬ 
duced himself. 

“ I am, you know. But it’s just like meeting 
a stranger again. We’ve always been good pals, 
for his mother died long ago and we’ve been 
thrown together a great deal. But in the last two 
years he has grown up to be a man.” 

“ That he has,” agreed the Head, who then, 
while the nines were going through preliminary 
practice, told the father some stories about Steve’s 
qualities of leadership. The Reverend James 
Fisher’s back straightened as he heard the recital, 
most of which was news to him, for Steve had 
always been reluctant to talk about himself. As 
the Head came to a pause, Jimmy Gould stepped 
out to the front and demanded “ a long ‘ Andover ’ 
for ‘ Cap.’ ” Mr. Fisher joined in the cheer, and 
from that moment he was oblivious to everything 
except what was going on before him. 

Once started, the game soon developed into a 


CLOSING THE YEAR 331 

test of a pitcher’s stamina and nerve. In her half 
of the first inning, Andover, by following a base 
on balls with a single and a two-bagger, scored 
two runs, and the prospects began to look rosy. 
All went well with Steve until the third inning, 
when a combination of careless errors by the 
short-stop, the left-fielder, and the catcher in suc¬ 
cession gave Exeter three runs, in spite of all that 
Steve could do. In a twinkling the whole situa¬ 
tion had altered, as it frequently does in such con¬ 
tests. Psychologically the advantage was now 
with Exeter, and the Reverend James, whose 
countenance had been glowing with satisfaction, 
now looked disconsolate. Old hands, like the 
Head, who had taken part in many such games, 
did not lose hope, for they had seen similar shifts 
of fortune before, and they knew that the fight 
was not over. 

It was, of course, disappointing for Steve to 
watch such blunders by his teammates, but he 
tried to appear contented, and simply said as he 
sat down, We’ll get them yet, fellows. Keep a 
stiff upper lip.” And so the game wore on, Steve 
pitching excellent ball, until the seventh inning, 
when a single by Steve, an error by Exeter’s first 
baseman, a long fly to center field, and a perfect 


332 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


Texas Leaguer brought in two runs for Andover, 
amid a continuous roar from the stands. The 
Reverend James now revived, and cheered his 
loudest with the boys near him. As the second 
run, which placed Andover in the lead, was made, 
he was seen wringing the Head’s hand with both 
of his, and dancing up and down in a way that 
would have scandalized his parishioners. 

‘‘ Now,” thought Steve, “ we ought to have 
them.” And so they ought. Unfortunately the 
Andover nine was suffering from a bad fit of over- 
confidence, a disease which is always dangerous 
in baseball. Steve struck out the first Exeter man 
in the next inning with an ease which allowed 
pleasant anticipations. The second batter, how¬ 
ever, after two strikes and three balls had been 
called on him, hit a speedy grounder to third base, 
where Ikey Randall fumbled, and, when he had 
finally grasped the ball in his fingers, threw it at 
least five feet over the first baseman’s head. It 
was a deplorable exhibition, for there had been 
no chance of Ikey’s getting the ball to first in 
season, and he might just as well have held it. 
As it was, the Exeter runner sprinted around to 
third, and Steve was in for another period of 
agony. The next batter hit a liner right into 


CLOSING THE YEAR 333 

Steve’s hands, and was readily put out. Then 
big Jim Neale, whom every Andover fielder had 
been taught to fear, stepped nonchalantly to the 
plate. When the catcher signalled for an out- 
drop, Steve pondered a moment and then nodded. 
But the ball did not drop soon enough. Neale 
caught it squarely on the end of his bat, and it 
sailed off towards right field, apparently right into 
the fielder’s hands. Unluckily he had been 
dreaming, and started too late. In vain he put 
all his energies into trying to reach the ball; it fell 
just beyond his outstretched fingers and rolled on 
and on. For the next minute or two there was 
confusion everywhere. Neale, who was a fast 
runner, slid to home plate in a cloud of dust, and 
the score was 5-4 in Exeter’s favor. This time 
Steve was really discouraged. He struck the next 
batter out with three vicious balls, and then 
walked to the bench, his eyes on the ground. As 
he came in, he heard a voice from the crowd. 
Head up, Steve!” and recognized his father’s 
warning tone. At once he straightened himself. 
What a fool he had been! All was not yet lost! 
After all, there was still another inning. The 
simple phrase which his father had used made him 
realize that he had almost been a quitter. 


334 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


Come on now, fellows, we’ll pull this out yet,” 
he said, as he drew near the bench. Every man 
on his toes now and dig in. We’ve got to bring 
home a victory.” The throng in the Andover 
bleachers were standing up, and cheer after cheer 
rang out as the first batter walked out, swinging 
two bats in the traditional fashion. He was 
begged, implored, and commanded to hit her 
out.” It was Bill Jones, a youngster from Tennes¬ 
see, whose slow Southern drawl and easy ways 
made him a popular favorite. Bill waited pa¬ 
tiently for two balls, and then hit the third for a 
clean drive over the second-baseman’s head; but 
it was quickly fielded, and he could not go be¬ 
yond first. Then came Carl Malone, long and 
lean, with legs like pipe-stems, who bunted along 
the third baseline, making a beautiful sacrifice. 
Things were growing exciting. Waddy Hunt then 
fouled out, and two men were gone. It was a 
tense moment when Dave Williams, the short¬ 
stop, slowly took his place. Smash! He hit the 
first ball directly over the third-baseman. Bill 
Jones, on second, had started as Dave swung, and 
was on his way home. As he touched third, he 
could hear the coaches cry, Go on, you can make 
it! ” and he tore along without hesitating. He 


335 


CLOSING THE YEAR 

could dimly see the Exeter catcher standing ready 
to receive a throw, but he forged on, plunging at 
the end for a long slide. The ball was there, but 
Dave’s dive had disconcerted the catcher, who 
muffed the throw. The umpire signalled that he 
was safe, and simultaneously all five of the An¬ 
dover cheer-leaders stood on their heads, kicking 
their legs into the air. Megaphones went flying, 
and the Reverend James Fisher’s derby hat re¬ 
ceived a dent which effectually damaged its sym¬ 
metry. 

Five to five! Two out! And Dave Williams 

I 

was on second base! In a kind of a daze Steve 
watched Van Jackson, the catcher, who had been 
with him through so many contests, and was both 
a reliable hitter and a cool-headed player. 

You’ve got to do it. Van! ” he shouted, and then 
sat on the edge of the bench, quivering with the 
tension. The Reverend James Fisher was sitting 
back with his eyes closed, afraid to see what was 
going to happen. One strike! ” Van had let 
a straight one go by. “One ball! ” It was a 
curve far out, which the Exeter catcher almost 
missed. Suddenly a great cry came from those 
around Mr. Fisher. He opened his eyes just in 
time to see Dave Williams tearing from second 


336 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


to third with all the power of his stocky little 
legs. But he had no need to hurry. Van had hit 
a grounder to the left of first base, just where it 
could not be reached, and the right fielder in his 
haste had fumbled and lost the ball. Dave was 
safe at home! The score was 6-5. 

The next Andover man was so elated that he 
could hardly hold his bat, and his pop fiy into the 
pitcher’s mit closed the inning for his side. Ex¬ 
eter now had one more chance to score. Strangely 
enough, Steve felt little doubt about the issue as 
he stepped into the box. It was to be his last 
effort for his school, and his mind inevitably went 
back to that day two years before when, on the 
same field, he pitched his first ball for an An¬ 
dover nine. He tried above all not to be in a 
hurry, and assumed a deliberation which he did 
not altogether feel. It was destined to be a quick 
inning. The first man hit a high foul, which Van 
Jackson readily caught. The second, after fan¬ 
ning twice at straight balls, hit a slow grounder 
to second base, which was quickly fielded and 
thrown to first ahead of the runner. The third, 
the redoubtable Jim Neale once more, had two 
strikes almost before he comprehended the situa¬ 
tion, and then swung desperately at a wild ball. 


CLOSING THE YEAR 


337 


The game was over! Once again the mob of An¬ 
dover rooters swarmed down on Steve to carry 
him to the dressing-room, and he was too joyful 
even to protest. 

Meanwhile the Reverend James was trying to 
adjust a twisted necktie, knock and bend his 
battered derby into shape, and accept the con¬ 
gratulations of the Head, all in the same moment. 
He was a supremely happy man, happier than he 
had been in many, many years. Almost forgotten 
memories of similar throngs and victories surged 
through his mind. He could catch the boy’s point 
of view, so essential for a father to regain if he is 
to understand his son. He could now see what, 
in Montana, he had not been able fully to com¬ 
prehend,—why this muscular son of his should 
be so much devoted to athletic sports and should 
be willing to spend so much valuable time be¬ 
coming proficient in them. After all, he reflected, 
it was just as important to win an Andover-Ex- 
eter game as to prepare,—what he had recently 
been doing,—an article on Saint Chrysostom for 
a local religious society. For the moment he 
wished that he could be a boy again, with a boy’s 
dreams, realities, and ideals. And then, with a 
start, he found himself on Plimpton Playing 


338 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


Fields, running along in a mob of hysterical boys, 
keeping time to an absurd song and shouting ut¬ 
terly absurd sounds; and he was actually helping 
to hold aloft a score-board, on which were the 
mystic chalked figures, 6-5. 

When Steve had had a bath and a rub-down, he 
found that he was really tired, but his mind was 
distinctly relieved. At the train he found his 
father, looking rather disreputable but still very 
much alive. Three of the team turned over a 
seat in the car, and they all sat down together, 
Mr. Fisher near the window and one of the play¬ 
ers on the arm at the aisle. “ Fellows,” said Steve, 

this is my dad. He played on the nine in ’83.” 

Glad to meet you, sir,” answered the boys one 
after another as they shook the clergyman’s hand. 
Before many minutes passed, he was telling them 
about the rules of forty years before, and describ¬ 
ing some close matches in which he had taken 
part. He told them the story, dear to every old 
Andover man, of the game in which Pi Yuk, a 
Chinese boy, played center field. When he came 
to bat,” he went on, “ the Exeter crowd kept yell¬ 
ing ^ Washee-washee ’ and ^ Chink-chinky,’ but all 
that the Chinaman did was to grin from ear to ear. 
And then, with two men on bases, he hit that 


CLOSING THE YEAR 339 

ball. How he did hit it! It just seemed to soar 
out of sight, and the marvel is that the fielder 
ever got it back in time to prevent a home-run. 
The Exeter boys never made fun of him again. 

But,’^ he added, ‘‘ we never had a game so ex¬ 
citing as this one to-day 

“ And we never shall again,” put in Van Jack- 
son. 

When we do,” was Stevens comment, I want 
to be here to see it.” 

And the best wish I can have for you, young 
fellow,” continued Mr. Fisher, is that your own 
son may be pitching the game.” 

One celebration on Andover Hill is very like 
another, but what was old and familiar to Steve 
was a revelation to the Reverend James. He had 
dinner with the Head, around a table where 
alumni from many different school generations 
were swapping yarns; and he contributed his 
share with a gusto that sometimes aroused a smile. 
When he heard the band playing outside, he put 
his coffee-cup down, excused himself, and went 
out. Delighted as any small-town boy, he fol¬ 
lowed the procession on its winding path, not 
missing a single speech. At the bonfire, when 
Steve, standing on the steps of the barge, said 


340 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


his last words as an Andover captain, the Rever¬ 
end Janies found that tears were streaming down 
his face. 

“ Fellows,Steve shouted hoarsely, I^m 
mighty glad to have everybody here to-night so 
happy. I’ve been in three baseball victories over 
Exeter, and that’s as much as anybody can really 
expect. I want to say now, because I may never 
get another chance, that it’s a wonderful school 
which we belong to, and we ought to be thankful 
that we’re here. I’ve got to leave it, and I’m 
mighty sorry; but you fellows next year will get 
together in just the same way, with the same 
fighting spirit, and win again for old Andover.” 

There’s not much to a speech like that, of 
course. Cynics will call it commonplace, and 
laugh at its lack of originality; but it was sincere, 
straight from the heart, and the boy who spoke 
it could be trusted. 

It is extraordinary how soon the excitement 
over an Andover-Exeter contest subsides. On the 
morning after the celebration, everybody natu¬ 
rally sleeps as late as he can, and the usual Sun¬ 
day papers are purchased by the dozens. For a 
few hours there is gossip about poor and good 
plays, and some talk about the prospects for the 


CLOSING THE YEAR 


341 


following year. But on Monday the students are 
back in their classes, as if nothing had happened 
to disturb the customary routine. In fact, such 
a game is like a little blood-letting, from which 
the victim emerges with a calmer mind and a 
less oppressed body. Before he knew it, Steve 
was in the midst of examinations, sitting up late 
into the night to compensate for the hours spent 
the week before on baseball. He was conscious 
that study seemed much easier, and probably did 
not appreciate how much more readily he was con¬ 
centrating his mind on the subject in hand and 
discriminating between important and unimpor¬ 
tant details. On Tuesday noon of Commence¬ 
ment Week all his tests were over, and he walked 
out of the Greek examination room with a light 
heart, proud that his athletics had not prevented 
him from securing an honor in his Homer. He 
was glad that he could meet his father with a 
cheerful smile, and with the knowledge that his di¬ 
ploma would be forthcoming. 


XIII 


COMMENCEMENT WEEK 

Commencement Week at Andover, as at all 
such institutions, is a mad whirl of activities, 
many of them apparently aimless, from which the 
visitor usually emerges with a store of memories 
but with an audible sense of relief. Steve, as a 
lower and upper middler, had not been permitted 
to remain through these festivities, and therefore 
looked forward with some curiosity to what might 
be coming. It was a time, of course, when old 
graduates returned in large numbers. Steve’s fa¬ 
ther, for instance, was back for his fortieth re¬ 
union, at which at least a score of his classmates 
had promised to be present. 

Baccalaureate Sunday was one of those rare 
June days which our New England climate, in a 
gracious mood, can sometimes produce. Cloud¬ 
less skies and a gentle southern breeze tempted 
everybody outdoors, and the Reverend James 
could not resist the impulse to start on a walk 
with one of his old school friends. Before long 

they found themselves on the grass-grown wood- 

342 


COMMENCEMENT WEEK 343 

land path marking the route of the old railroad 
through the Ballardvale plains to Wilmington. 
When he looked at his watch, the clergyman 
found that it was eleven o’clock, long past church¬ 
time, and stopped, horrified at his forgetfulness. 

Never mind,” said his companion, a lawyer of 
national reputation, didn’t some poet say that 
‘the groves were God’s first temples’? We can 
worship out here in the open as well as in any 
church pew.” The Reverend James, in view of 
his distance from the Academy chapel, was com¬ 
pelled to accept this doctrine, but his conscience 
was restless during the remainder of the walk. 
At Sunday dinner, Steve said to his father, “ How 
did you like the sermon? ” 

“ Why—why, Steve, can you believe it, I didn’t 
go? It’s the first time in years that I’ve missed 
a Sunday morning service. But we got out under 
the pines, with a sun so warm and everything so 
beautiful that I kept no track of time. Before I 
realized it, we were so far off that I couldn’t pos¬ 
sibly have reached the church in season.” 

“ Good for you, Dad,” replied Steve. “ It 
shows what a good time you had. We heard a 
lot of stuff about the Prodigal Son, and you didn’t 
miss anything.” 


344 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


The Reverend James made up for his derelic¬ 
tion by going early to the Baccalaureate service 
in the afternoon. The chimes .played hymns at 
three o’clock, and at four the one hundred and 
fifty boys in the Senior Class gathered at Brechin 
Hall, where they were given instructions by the 
Marshal, “ Jove ” Bannard, the popular Professor 
of Greek. The procession formed in columns of 
two, Mr. Bannard in front with a baton, with 
the two assistant marshals, Steve and Sam Barker, 
following him. To Mr. Fisher, who stood outside 
the church watching them from a distance, the 
boys looked very impressive in their white fiannel 
trousers and blue coats. Inside the congregation 
stood up to receive them, and they proceeded 
down the long aisle trying to keep time to slow 
music from the organ, each fellow with his own 
peculiar brand of miserable self-consciousness dis¬ 
played on his face. 

For some reason Steve could not keep his mind 
on the sermon. Now and then words like 

loyalty,” service,” and faith ” caught his at¬ 
tention for a moment, but soon he was back in 
his reverie, living over again some of his experi¬ 
ences of the past three years. Almost before he 
realized it, he was nudged by his neighbor and 


COMMENCEMENT WEEK 345 


found his classmates standing up, listening to the 
last injunctions of the preacher. What he enjoyed 
most, perhaps, was the noble hymn of Oliver 
Wendell Holmes, who was graduated at Andover 
in 1825. Steve joined in the words: 

“Wake in our breasts the living fires. 

The holy faith that warmed our sires: 

Thy hand hath made our nation free; 

To die for her is serving thee.’’ 

With these lines ringing in his ears, he marched 
out of chapel into the late afternoon sunlight. It 
seemed even now incredible that he must get 
ready to leave the school. 

On Wednesday morning came the traditional 
ceremonies connected with last chapel.’’ After 
the regular program, Steve, as President of the 
school, stepped to the front and called for cheers 
for each member of the teaching staff, beginning 
with the Head and coming down to the youngest, 
Levi ” Snyder, who was barely a year out of 
college. With an irreverence which astounded the 
Reverend James Fisher, each teacher was cheered 
by his nickname, which sometimes aroused laugh¬ 
ter among the boys. This was especially the case 
when it was whispered around that some instruc¬ 
tor did not like the name assigned to him. After 


346 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

this feature was concluded, each class in turn, be¬ 
ginning with the Seniors, cheered all the other 
classes. It was amusing to see the Juniors, mere 
children as compared with the upper classmen, 
fall into line and imitate their elders. It is thus, 
of course, that customs are preserved at Andover. 
The exercises closed with a long and raucous cheer 
for the Head and the school. It was a marvel 
that any one could speak aloud after the ordeal. 

That evening everybody turned out for the 
Potter Prize speaking in the chapel,—a contest 
in which boys spoke orations which they them¬ 
selves had written. It is unfortunately necessary 
to record the fact that Steve had thus far dis¬ 
played little skill in public speaking, and was not, 
therefore, able to gratify his father’s secret hope 
that he might become another Bishop Brooks. 
Hal, however, was one of the contestants, and de¬ 
lighted Mr. and Mrs. Manning by winning first 
prize, with an essay on Democracy in Our 
Schools.” I didn’t know,” said Mrs. Manning 
to Mr. Fisher, that Hal knew anything about 
democracy. He comes from Boston ^ where the 
Lowells speak only with Cabots, and the Cabots 
speak only with God,’ and it’s mighty easy to be 
a snob, especially as his grandmother was a 


COMMENCEMENT WEEK 347 

Lowell. Evidently he has been learning some¬ 
thing here.” 

“ Mrs. Manning,” replied Mr. Fisher with un¬ 
usual earnestness, “ it’s impossible for a fellow 
with any intelligence to stay here in Andover 
three months and be what you call a ^ snob.’ It 
simply isn’t in the atmosphere of the place; that’s 
all.” 

“ Well, Hal knows what he is talking about all 
right,” put in Mr. Manning. He sounds to me 
like an embryonic Congressman.” 

Perhaps,” commented Mr. Fisher drily, but 
he strikes me as being somewhat too intelligent 
for that kind of a career.” 

Thursday afternoon is the time set apart for 
the Class Day exercises, which are always held on 
the lawn under the elms in front of the Gym¬ 
nasium, beneath the shadow of the Memorial 
Tower. Steve, who, as Class President, was 
Chairman for the occasion, introduced in succes¬ 
sion the Poet, the Orator, the Historian, and the 
Prophet, each of whom delivered a production 
which had usually been prepared hastily on the 
previous afternoon. Nobody cared what was be¬ 
ing said, however, and the audience, made up 
chiefly of proud mothers and fathers, applauded 


348 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


lustily. Ted Sherman, the Prophet, gleefully por¬ 
trayed Joe as a heavyweight prize-fighter, Hal as 
a dressmaker, and Steve as a missionary to the 
South Sea Islands,—to all of which Mr. Manning 
listened dutifully, but with a heart rather pained 
at such levity. 

After this event, Mr. Fisher went for a few mo¬ 
ments to Steve’s room, where he picked up on the 
table a copy of the Pot-Pourri, the school an¬ 
nual, which had just been distributed. Mr. 
Fisher was turning the pages carelessly, looking 
over the pictures, many of which showed Steve in 
various kinds of athletic costume, when he came 
across the votes of the class regarding their fel¬ 
lows. His interest was at once aroused by seeing 
Steve’s name in several conspicuous places. Un¬ 
der the headings “ Most Conceited,” “ Hand¬ 
somest,” and Neatest,” he could not find any 
mention of Fisher; but when it came to Best 
All-Round Fellow,” Most Modest, Most Pop¬ 
ular,” and Most Respected,” Steve’s name, like 
that of Abou Ben Adhem in Hunt’s verses, led 
all the rest.” Ted Sherman had a considerable 
majority for Class Wire-Puller,” '' Most Capa¬ 
ble,” and Busiest,” with a scattering seven or 
eight for '' Class Sport.” Joe was high up in the 


COMMENCEMENT WEEK 349 


competition for ‘‘ Best Athlete,” Best-Natured,” 
and Most Popular.” Hal Manning stood first 
among the Brightest ” and Wittiest,” and was 
also the leader of the “ Best-Dressed.” But what 
pleased Mr. Fisher most was to see Steve’s name 
highest among the Most Promising.” To be 
thus rated by his fellows, who have known him 
day in and day out over a period of many months, 
a boy must indeed have sterling qualities,—for 
young men of that age judge each other with re¬ 
lentless severity. 

While he was engaged in this pleasant occupa¬ 
tion, Mr. Fisher heard the door open and saw 
Steve standing there. 

Hello, Dad. I see you’ve got your hands on 
the new Pot-Pourri” 

Yes. You seem to figure in it a good deal.” 

Oh, those votes don’t really mean very much. 
I guess I must have had them fooled at the time 
when the ballots were taken.” 

Well, keep on ^ fooling them,^ as you call it, 
if this is the result. I’m proud of you, anyway, 
even if you do hate yourself.” 

What are you talking about. Dad? Of course 
I’m proud to have the fellows like me, but don’t 
take the thing too seriously. I may turn out to 


350 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

be a worthless investment. School popularity 
isn’t the final test by any means. I know that.” 

A few minutes later the two strolled over to 
the Head’s reception, on the broad lawn around 
his house. Here the returning alumni, the par¬ 
ents of the graduating boys, together with the 
teachers and a few of the Trustees gathered to 
pay their respects to the Head. It was a joy to 
Mr. Fisher to find himself introduced everywhere 
as Steve’s father, and to hear what people had 
to say about his son. Here he found himself in a 
corner with Joe Watson’s mother, a calm, rather 
slow-moving woman, who had an intense pride 
in what her boy had achieved. Joe’s father had 
been dead many years. The two parents chatted 
together for twenty minutes, comparing notes on 
what they had seen and heard. Their conversa¬ 
tion would have horrified either Steve or Joe, for 
it consisted chiefiy of lavish compliments paid to 
them both. 

Before the afternoon was over, Mr. Fisher had 
met Ted’s family,—a stunning-looking mother, 
rather flashily dressed; a father who exuded pros¬ 
perity, with a large diamond horseshoe in his 
necktie, a big cigar in the corner of his mouth, 
and a suit of clothes resembling a checker-board 


COMMENCEMENT WEEK 351 


pattern; and two active boys, Ted^s younger 
brothers. With the Sherman family, Mr. Fisher 
felt not quite at home, but, when all joined in 
expressing their admiration for Steve, he lost his 
aloofness and basked in the sunshine of their re¬ 
gard for his son. Mr. Sherman was evidently 
quite satisfied with the fact that his offspring had 
got by.’’ I have tried that boy in five schools, 
Mr. Fisher,” he confessed, ‘‘ and he was fired from 
most of them. It took Andover to make a man 
out of him.” 

Mr. Sherman was the same kind himself,” in¬ 
terposed that gentleman’s spouse. I guess there 
aren’t many schools in this country that he didn’t 
try.” 

I came out all right, didn’t I, my dear? ” ex¬ 
postulated her husband, a trifle embarrassed at 
having his past thus resurrected. Anyhow, Ted 
has a fine record, and I’m going to recognize it 
by giving him a Stutz Roadster for his birthday 
next week.” 

That’s very generous, sir,” replied Mr. Fisher, 
who had been wondering whether he would have 
money enough left to buy Steve a new suit when 
they got back to Montana. Surely, he thought, 
life has strange contrasts. And yet he would 


352 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

rather have had Steve grow up as the boy had 
done, without luxuries and compelled to be eco¬ 
nomical, than have granted his every wish. 

It was at the reception that Steve once more 
saw Marge Watson, who was there with her 
mother. After one of the dances on the canvas 
floor, he saw her glancing at him shyly, and he 
went up to speak to her. 

Hello, Steve,’’ she said. I thought you were 
going to cut me.” 

‘‘ Oh, no,” he answered, I just didn’t want to 
interfere with Hal Manning’s courting.” 

“ Hal! I haven’t seen him since the Prom, two 
years ago, when you treated me so badly and 
wrote me that impolite note.” 

Steve, in spite of his avowed scorn for the other 
sex, was not unsusceptible. He noticed that 
Marge had decidedly grown up, and was now a 
beautiful young lady. His memory of the past, 
when she had treated him so cavalierly, faded 
with every passing minute, and soon he was danc¬ 
ing with her. The great Steve, who had refused 
to attend the Prom, in his Senior year, was on the 
way to being captivated. When his father dis¬ 
covered him half an hour later, the two were 
seated on a bench in a remote section of the 


COMMENCEMENT WEEK 353 

shrubbery, evidently making up for two lost years, 
and Steve had engaged eight dances for the Prom, 
on the next evening, to which she was going with 
her brother, Joe. 

That night the returning classes had their din¬ 
ners, while other visitors entertained themselves 
by patronizing the performances of the Dramatic 
Club and the Glee Club in the Gymnasium. Mr. 
Fisher naturally went to the Peabody House, 
where fourteen gray-haired gentlemen sat down 
together, all members of the class of 1883. Their 
talk was mainly of bygone times. Some had sons 
who had been to Andover and graduated; one 
actually had a grandson who was to enter the 
next autumn; but Mr. Fisher was the only father 
whose son was in the graduating class. When the 
tables were cleared and the cigars lighted, he was 
asked by the others to give impressions of the 
school as he had seen it during the previous ten 
days. 

“ IJl tell you, gentlemen,” he concluded, after 
he had presented some account of the baseball 
game and other interesting events, “ it^s a better 
place than it was in our day. These boys are 
cleaner and manlier than we were forty years ago. 
Furthermore, they're getting more sensible in- 


354 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


struction, under better teachers. Nowadays they 
send them all out into athletics just as soon as 
their luncheon is digested, and they can use up a 
good part of their animal energy in games. When 
they come in at night, they’re just comfortably 
tired, perfectly willing to settle* down at a desk 
and study. There’s a lot of talk to-day about 
overdoing athletics. These youngsters, as I see 
them, are just following out the natural impulses 
of their kind, and they end their school-days a 
good deal better off because of the health' which 
they have been building up here. As for drinking 
and other forms of vice, there’s much less than 
there used to be. The whole spirit of the institu¬ 
tion, even among the boys, seems to be against 
that sort of thing. If a young man deliberately 
makes up his mind to go to the devil, he can do 
that anywhere; but in Andover now he must sim¬ 
ply go out and hunt up opportunities to be dissi¬ 
pated. They won’t be brought directly to him 
very often. Of course these boys are not angels, 
and nobody in his right mind expects them to be; 
however, their fun is usually clean and wholesome. 
They’re still allowed plenty of freedom, but there’s 
always somebody looking out for them. I’ve 
watched the whole system, and I want to declare 


COMMENCEMENT WEEK 355 


here and now that I^m for it. It may not be per¬ 
fect, but it gets results. Furthermore, it’s Ameri¬ 
can in the best sense of that word, and the young¬ 
sters can’t help growing up to be good citizens.” 

Mr. Fisher’s speech was loudly applauded, and 
he was asked many questions by the little group 
of graduates at the table. Little by little, various 
reminiscences came out in the course of the con¬ 
versation. One of the men, a most respectable¬ 
looking business man with a head almost com¬ 
pletely destitute of hair and fully his share of 
avoirdupois, said, as the talk came in his direc¬ 
tion, I heard a young chap not long ago say to 
me at the club, ‘ Oh, you lived in the Age of In¬ 
nocence, of course,’ with a kind of sneer on his 
face. Well, perhaps we did; but when I remember 
some of those keg parties at Pomp’s Pond and 
contemplate the orgies which some of the fellows 
used to have in the old Commons, I’m glad that 
my grandchildren won’t have to go through what 
I did. We survived, but how some of us did it, 
I don’t know. If ours was the Age of Innocence, 
I don’t want to live in any really sophisticated 
time.” 

“Yes,” added a New York banker, “we had 
better not do any boasting about the ‘ good old 


356 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

days/ If we do, some one sometime will tell the 
truth, and then we’ll be exposed.” 

It was two o’clock before the Reverend James, 
staying up long beyond his usual retiring hour, 
finally went to bed, well satisfied with his day. 
The next morning he was up almost with the sun 
for a stroll through the woods around Rabbit’s 
Pond. It was to be, he felt, a notable occasion 
both for himself and Steve. 

At half-past nine the alumni began gradually 
to assemble in front of the Archaeology Building, 
on the very spot where the ancient school had 
opened in 1778, in a renovated carpenter’s shop. 
The shop had long since been torn down and the 
surroundings had greatly changed, but a tablet 
marked the place where Andover had its begin¬ 
nings. A band assisted in bringing the visitors 
together, and before long the gathering was of 
respectable size. Then a procession was formed 
in the traditional way, faculty and distinguished 
guests in the van, the alumni following by classes, 
the oldest in front. The twenty-five-year class 
carried banners, indicating their proud status. 
Across Main Street and up the Campus they 
marched, keeping step to the music of “ Old P. 
A.,” until they reached Brechin Hall, where the 



A COMMENCEMENT DAY PROCESSION COMING DOWN THE ELM ARCH. 










COMMENCEMENT WEEK 357 

Trustees took their place in line. Then the pa¬ 
rade took a route down the Elm Arch almost to 
the Chapel, where the Senior Class opened up in 
two rows, allowing the remainder of the procession 
to pass between them. The spectacle was exceed¬ 
ingly impressive to Steve, as he watched men who 
had been out of Andover sixty years come march¬ 
ing down as if they were boys again. Among the 
distinguished personages who were there that day 
were a United States Senator, a Major-General, 
a college president, a member of the cabinet, and 
a famous banker, all linked together in their af¬ 
fection for the school. 

Inside the Chapel, after all had been seated, was 
held the Exhibition,—the one hundred and forty- 
fifth, it said on the program,—which had been an 
annual feature since the eighteenth century. 
After an opening prayer by the Head, came cere¬ 
monies initiating the high scholars of the class,— 
Hal Manning being one,—into the Cum Laude 
society. As a part of the initiation, the President 
of Dartmouth College spoke briefly on the signif¬ 
icance of the organization. When the applause 
had subsided, the Head stepped forward to read 
the long prize list for the year. 

Steve had never been much concerned over the 


358 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

matter of prizes. Naturally there were some of 
which he had heard and in which he was inter¬ 
ested, but usually because he hoped that some of 
his friends might win them. He himself had no 
remarkably high standing in any subject, and 
could not hope to receive any of the rewards for 
special proficiency in Latin, History, or English. 

The Chapel was now crowded, with many per¬ 
sons standing up in the rear, for everybody reaches 
there at least in time to hear the prize list read. 
As the winner’s name was called out, he pro¬ 
ceeded down one of the three long aisles to the 
platform, where the prize was formally presented. 
His progress was always accompanied by clap¬ 
ping, the length and volume of which varied with 
the personal popularity of the recipient and the 
importance of the prize itself. As the Head 
moved down the list, Hal’s name was read again 
and again, and he went to the front six times for 
awards in scholarship competitions. There were 
moments when Steve was close to envying him, 
but, after all, Steve was incapable of any spiteful 
feeling, and he applauded longer and more loudly 
than the others. 

Finally, the Head, reaching two or three prizes 
of more than ordinary significance, paused for a 


COMMENCEMENT WEEK 359 

few seconds before proceeding. The Faculty 
Prize, presented to the highest ranking scholar of 
the class, went to Charlie Clough, one of Steve’s 
best friends, who, through a constitutional in¬ 
firmity, had been debarred from athletics, but had 
instead been able to develop a mind which was 
naturally brilliant. Then came the Yale Club 
Cup,—a huge silver affair which, to the average 
Andover boy, symbolizes true success,—for was 
it not the reward of the senior who most effec¬ 
tively had combined proficiency in both scholar¬ 
ship and athletics? “ This year,” said the Head, 
holding up the cup, we have an ideal candidate, 
—a young man who, while playing on three teams 
and serving as the captain of one, has at the same 
time maintained as a senior an honor grade in his 
classroom work. I take pleasure in saying that 
the Faculty have been unanimous in awarding 
this prize to Stephen Harrison Fisher, of Arling¬ 
ton, Montana.” The clapping which began was 
spontaneous, and rose like the pouring down of 
mighty waters. As Steve walked nervously along 
the aisle, he was accompanied by waves of ap¬ 
plause, which even increased as he made his way 
back to his seat. Never was an award more sat¬ 
isfactory to a student body. 


360 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


It was nearly as gratifying when the Head an¬ 
nounced that the Otis prize for the greatest gen¬ 
eral improvement over a period of three years 
had been given to Joseph William Watson. Joe^s 
surprise was quite evident to all those around 
him, and he stalked to the platform in a kind of 
daze. The broad smile which covered his face 
on the way back was a delight to those who saw 
it. And now,” continued the Head, “ it is my 
privilege to present one of the most coveted of our 
prizes,—the Fuller prize, for that member of the 
Senior Class who has best represented the ideals 
of Andover,—given without a dissenting voice, to 
Stephen Harrison Fisher.” Again the approba¬ 
tion of the audience was expressed by frantic ap¬ 
plause. This time the Reverend James Fisher, 
who had been sitting with his classmates in the 
center of the church, could not control himself, 
and tears poured down his cheeks. As for Steve, 
he was manifestly bewildered. When Hal shook 
his hand, when Joe leaned over from the seat 
behind and smote him on the shoulder, he was 
still not quite able to realize his success. The 
huge cup in his hand and the envelope in his 
pocket seemed to have dropped from dreamland. 

The remainder of the announcements dealt with 


COMMENCEMENT WEEK 361 


scholarships, and Steve found himself the recipi¬ 
ent of one of five hundred dollars at Yale, a most 
welcome form of aid. By this time he had 
recovered, and he accepted the envelope and the 
Head’s hand-clasp without a tremor. 

The real excitement of the Exhibition was over. 
The Head read the list of final honors in the 
various subjects. The President of the Board of 
Trustees presented diplomas to those who had 
been fortunate enough to earn them. And 
the audience joined in that other of Holmes’s 
hymns: 

‘‘Lord of all being, throned afar, 

Thy glory flames from sun and star; 

Center and soul of every sphere. 

Yet to each loving heart how near.’^ 

When they had marched out of the chapel and 
were lingering on the porch in the sunlight, Ted 
Sherman came up to Steve, linked his arm 
through his, and said, Steve, old top, that’s 
great. You deserved every bit of it, and more. 
And I’m ashamed to think what kind.of a record 
I’ve made. Three years at Andover, and not a 
prize of any kind. All I’ve earned is the brown 
derby for the fellow that loafed the most scientif¬ 
ically.” 


362 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


‘^That’s all bunk, Ted. You’ve made three 
close friends to my one.” 

Yes, I know all about that. They play with 
me, and respect you. That’s the difference. I 
hate to face my dad.” 

Look here, he cares more about your being 
baseball manager than he would if you had won 
the ^ good boy ’ prize, as Joe did. I know how he 
feels.” 

Just then the Reverend James approached, and 
gave his son a vigorous hand-clasp, and the con¬ 
versation was interrupted. The father said noth¬ 
ing but Good work, my boy,” but Steve knew 
what he was thinking, and valued his silence more 
than he would an outburst of words. Mr. Fisher 
did not linger, but walked off with his classmates. 
Steve would have liked to get away by himself; 
instead he had to bear the ordeal of unceasing 
congratulations, from everybody he knew and 
from some old gentlemen whom, so far as he could 
recollect, he had never seen before. He was be¬ 
yond a doubt the hero of the day. 

Half an hour before the Alumni Dinner, which 
was scheduled for one o’clock, the guests were as¬ 
sembling in front of the Gymnasium, where the 
inevitable and ubiquitous band was once more 


COMMENCEMENT WEEK 363 

playing sweet strains. It was a scene of some 
confusion, for photographers were rushing about 
taking pictures of the four or five oldest living 
graduates present, and long-separated friends 
were greeting each other with the stored-up 
warmth of many years. At last the figure of Dad 
Warner, the Secretary of the Alumni Association, 
appeared at the top of the steps leading into the 
Gymnasium, and called off the names of invited 
guests, who, two by two, walked up into the build¬ 
ing amid the applause of the crowd. It took some 
time to complete these preliminaries, but no one 
complained, for they are a part of the traditional 
program. 

At the end table, on a raised platform, sat the 
President of the Alumni Association, Mr. George 
B. Fuller, a prominent banker, with the Head on 
his right, and the distinguished guests of the day 
in a long row on either side. The alumni, grouped 
by classes, sat at long tables on the floor, the 
youngest class being conspicuous for its size and 
enthusiasm. Possibly six hundred persons may 
have sat down to luncheon, and there were many 
ladies in the gallery, who came mainly to hear the 
speeches. Between courses, Steve kept his class¬ 
mates active, singing Andover songs and cheering 


364 ALL FOR ANDOVER 

for the older classes, many of which responded in 
kind. It was a noisy gathering, but every one 
seemed happy. 

When the tables were finally cleared, Mr. Fuller 
rose and called the meeting to order. He then 
introduced the various speakers, closing with the 
Head, who received his usual ovation from an 
Andover audience. His talk was in the nature 
of an informal account of the school year, in which 
he told of new gifts received, improvements to the 
buildings, and Hill gossip which the graduates 
liked to hear. He closed with a tribute to the 
graduating class: 

I ought to say in conclusion that I have never 
had a pleasanter group of young fellows to work 
with than those in this class which has just grad¬ 
uated. They have helped me in times of trouble; 
they have backed me up with the student body; 
they have borne responsibility without complaint. 
Fellows like Joe Watson and Bill Jones and Steve 
Fisher are not found every term in Andover, and 
I want to thank them publicly for what they have 
done. When the time comes for them in later 
years to help the school, they will not be found 
wanting; and we can welcome them now as 
worthy members of our alumni organization.” 


COMMENCEMENT WEEK 365 


After the dinner, Steve, with the other mem¬ 
bers of the championship nine, donned his uni¬ 
form for the annual match with the alumni, 
which was always a delight to the visitors, espe¬ 
cially because the Head, who had been one of the 
notable baseball players of his college generation, 
usually went into the pitcher’s box for the alumni 
team. Although he was over fifty years of age 
and gray-haired, he could still throw a baffling 
curve; and let it be here recorded that Steve, to 
the amusement of the spectators, struck out on his 
first time up to bat. The game was closer than 
one would have thought possible where youth and 
training were so clearly on one side. Indeed the 
alumni stood an excellent chance of winning until 
the very end, when two hits by the school team 
brought in three runs and gave them a command¬ 
ing lead. The feature of the contest, beyond a 
doubt, was a three-base hit which the Head se¬ 
cured off Steve’s pitching in the third inning, and 
which left that youngster very much chagrined. 

So far as the graduates were concerned, the 
Commencement was over; but Steve had an en¬ 
gagement with Marge Watson at the Prom, which 
he was not likely to forget. Right after dinner, 
however, he walked with his father to the steps 


366 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


of Alumni Hall, where they watched the sun drop 
behind the western hills and listened to the even¬ 
ing chimes from the Memorial Tower. It was a 
glorious sight to look out over the broad campus 
to the west, and then off to Lawrence and the 
valley between. Those who founded Andover had 
a prescient vision of the future, and their dreams 
have come true. 

Like many spring evenings in New England, 
this was warm and drowsy, and there was a tinge 
of melancholy in the air, due probably to the fact 
that both Steye and his father were in quiet 
moods, after the rush and confusion of the day. 

I suppose that it’s been worth while, Steve, 
hasn’t it? ” 

‘‘ Worth it? I should say it had been. I’ve 
been thinking all day how sorry I shall be to 
leave it. No college can ever mean to me quite 
what this has meant.” 

I suppose that it all comes down to the point 
that the fellows here are at an impressionable 
age, and that their characters are really moulded 
while they are here.” 

Yes, it’s that, of course. But it’s more than 
that. There’s something in this Hill and its sur¬ 
roundings that gets you. It always seems to me 


COMMENCEMENT WEEK 367 

as if it stood like something fixed in the midst of 
other things that are all the time shifting around. 
You just know that, if you come back a century 
from now, Andover will still be here.’’ 

“ That’s odd, Steve. I’ve had precisely the 
same sensation. For years and years I couldn’t 
possibly get back to this place, and yet all the 
while I was sure that it couldn’t really change very 
much. And it hasn’t changed. Of course there 
are all these beautiful new buildings, and some 
of the old ugly architecture has disappeared in 
the natural course of time. But the spirit of the 
school is just the same.” 

You’ve said the right word. Dad, I guess. It 
is the spirit of the place that gets you. It’s like 
the ‘ house not made with hands ’ that you had 
such a corking sermon about a year or two ago 
in the summer.” 

The hour had come when Steve was due at the 
dance. As he and the Reverend James walked 
towards the Gymnasium, they could see the gleam 
of Japanese lanterns through the branches of the 
elms and hear faintly the tinkle of the orchestra. 
It was a night filled with beauty and tranquillity. 
The two naturally gravitated towards the tall 
Tower, stretching aloft on the old Training Field. 


368 


ALL FOR ANDOVER 


As they looked, the names of the Andover heroes 
gleamed in the stone as the moonlight struck 
them. 

‘‘ It is fellows like those who have made this 
school what it is,’^ said Steve. “ They certainly 
had fine stuff in them.” 

‘‘Yes, that’s true. But they were just a part 
of that spirit we were talking about. It’s all a 
matter of where you put your energy. You 
haven’t any such spectacular opportunity as a 
World War, but there’s need for a good deal of 
courage in these times of so-called peace.” 

“ Some day I hope that I’ll do something 
worthy of this place,” mused Steve. “ It’s a hard 
standard to live up to.” 

“ You’ve done it already. Son,” said the Rever¬ 
end James Fisher, his voice breaking ever so 
slightly. “ There’s no more that I could ask.” 


THE END 


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